


A Kingdom Divided

by Rising_Eagle (Robin_Mask)



Series: A Kingdom Divided [1]
Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Dysfunctional Family, Eventual Happy Ending, False Accusations, Family Drama, Friendship, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Minor Character Death, Mpreg, Pre-Thor (2011), Rape Aftermath, Rape Recovery, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-12
Updated: 2018-01-27
Packaged: 2019-02-01 12:18:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 40
Words: 134,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12704859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Robin_Mask/pseuds/Rising_Eagle
Summary: No one suspected what would unfold.The coronation would be in a matter of weeks, with Thor ruling in his father's place. It would be a source of hope for their people. It would unite a planet. Loki would serve as Thor's right-hand, guiding him through an age of peace.That future was derailed with one false accusation.The problem was knowing which accusation was false.Loki accused Thor of the worst possible crime: rape. It was an accusation all took seriously, but especially so when Thor accused Loki in turn of that same crime. No one knew who to believe. There was no denying something occurred between them, while one obviously lied, but no one could know where the truth lay. It left a kingdom divided.





	1. Chapter 1

_‘What is this?’_

_Volstagg watched as Loki scrambled from Thor’s bed. The tears that streamed down his face left visible trails on pale skin, while he struggled to clasp his robe about his person, and – seeing a sliver of white shoulder – Volstagg blushed and looked away with a frown. He kept his head low, even as Loki stumbled and tripped and struggled to make his way across the room, while Thor did nothing but to stir from the bed and look to Loki with narrowed eyes._

_The rage emanated from him like waves, as Volstagg chanced a glance to see Thor red in his face with bearded mouth pressed into a white line, and – indifferent to his nudity or aroused state – he swung his legs around the bed and slammed them onto the floor. Loki visibly flinched and ran to Volstagg; he clasped onto his arm and forced Volstagg before him like a human shield, as Thor stood with muscles bulging and a vein throbbing on his temple. The stench of sex clung in the air, while both men were drenched with sweat._

_‘I_ swear _,’ choked Loki. ‘I merely came in to check upon him.’_

_Thor roared out loud and marched over to Loki, as the younger man struggled with his robe and raised a hand as if to defend himself, and Volstagg could only sweep forward and press both hands to Thor’s chest to keep him back. It took all his strength to keep Thor from violence, but beneath his hands Thor trembled and breathed rapidly as if desperate for air, and long locks of blond hair clung to his face with the previous exertions._

_‘He raped me,’ thundered Thor. ‘I will feed his head to a bilgesnipe!’_

_Coldness overcame Volstagg. He turned with wide eyes to Loki, only to see visible marks on his neck that looked like that came from a choke-hold, and saw how the man shivered with bloodshot eyes and paled skin, as his torn gown barely covered him. Volstagg looked back to see the claw-marks down Thor’s chest and bruises on his hips. Loki stumbled back and braced himself on the doorframe, while his black hair looked mussed and tangled, so unlike his usual self, and when he spoke it was in but a cold whisper:_

_‘He was the one to rape_ me _.’_

* * *

“It is good to see you, my friends!”

Thor bounded through the doors with great speed. Volstagg barely found time to react, as an arm was thrown around him and pulled him close towards an armoured chest, and – with a soft laugh – Volstagg threw his arms back and pulled him tight against him. The hall was decorated spectacularly for the grand celebration, with tables of food laid out that would put even the official upcoming ceremonies to shame, and the heavy aroma of cooked meats and sweets drifted around enough to make his mouth water in anticipation.

The lights about the hall reflected brightly from the various ornaments, decorations, and detailed costumes of the attendees, so that – as Volstagg pulled away – he caught the others flitting to and fro in constant distraction, whether it be some young lady that caught the eye or a succulent dish that stole the senses. Volstagg clapped a hand on Thor’s shoulder and chuckled as he realised it would not be long before Thor left in turn.

Odin and Frigga sat together in a far corner, where Frigga leaned in with such a gentle intimacy that Volstagg was at once reminded of his wife, and – as a smile graced his lips – he looked across the hall to where she socialised and laughed and gossiped with Sif. It made a remarkable sight, as her long hair was worn loose over an uncharacteristic silver dress, and it was difficult to reconcile the warrior with the young woman, and even the blush of paint on her cheeks made her seem something ‘other’. Volstagg admired her confidence.

“I hear your father still hopes you’ll marry Sif,” observed Volstagg.

Thor laughed and clapped a hand on Volstagg’s back. It knocked him forward a foot, until he found his balance and smiled up at Thor, who walked past him – red cape flaring behind him – to pick up a mug of mead. He raised it high and watched it spill, before he chugged it back without a care in the world, and soon Fandral joined them with a woman on each arm and a mug of mead in each hand, as he collapsed into a nearby chair and watched them both with a quirked eyebrow and a smirk. Thor ignored him to answer Volstagg.

“Sif is too much a sister to me.” Thor shook his head with a smile. “I know not what maiden I shall marry, or what man for that matter, but I know it shall be with one that complements me and balances my less desirable traits with more virtuous ones. I look to Father and Mother, as well as to you and Hogun and others so happily married, and that is what I desire.”

“Come now,” chirped Fandral. “You shan’t be king for a few more weeks! Do you _honestly_ want to ruin your mood by talking about _marriage_? Why tie yourself down to one woman when you can be tied up by many? I even know a brothel that you might –”

“You are not taking Thor to a brothel,” chastised Volstagg.

“Why not?” Thor teased with a wink. “It certainly sounds like fun. Still, I am not one to pay what I can find for free, but I understand not everyone is born with my advantages. Allow me to pay for your next visit, Fandral; I am sure these two women shall appreciate the tip, and it is not as though you will find such extras by any other means, my friend. Call it a treat.”

Fandral scoffed and threw a bunch of grapes toward Thor. Thor burst into laughter as they fell ineffectually to the ground, and the two women – of dubious virtue – pushed away from Fandral and made their way into the crowd, as he jumped to his feet and tried to coax them to stay, which only brought further laughter from Thor. It was a scene that soon turned to bickering and mild threats, as the two men sized each other up, and Volstagg – with a loud sigh – grabbed a leg from a roast pig and busied himself with the food instead.

He barely noticed as Loki appeared not far from his side, dressed in black-and-green with long hair loose about his shoulders, and looked about the scene with a curl of his lip and a raised eyebrow, before picking at some of the food with a harsh gesture. No one noticed him, even as he slipped by and into the crowds, but Volstagg followed with a saddened frown and head low. He looked to Loki and saw a young man in a great deal of pain. Loki muttered:

“To think, they claim my brother capable of rule.”

Loki stopped as he reached a far balcony. He leaned on the marble railings, where he tossed a bunch of grapes up and down in his hand with indifference, before he sighed and ripped off individual grapes only to toss them as far as they would go. Volstagg held his tongue and stood beside Loki in quiet observance. The air outside was cool, bringing a few goosebumps to Volstagg’s skin, and the stars above were bright enough to distract from the rowdy party within the main hall. He could even see his home from such heights.

“You can’t possible think Thor would be a bad ruler,” said Volstagg.

He tried to keep his voice upbeat, as he nudged Loki playfully with his shoulder, but Loki only winced and squeezed so hard upon the grapes in his hand that juice stained his pale hands and ran down his fingers, until it dripped onto the stone below. The scent of the grapes was heavy in the air, while Loki dropped the broken skins to the ground and stomped them underfoot, before he turned around and leaned casually on the railing.

Volstagg turned to see Thor stumble on his feet, where he waved over to Loki and bounded toward them, but – only midway in his race to reach them – he stumbled and grasped onto a guard for support, before being subtly led towards the main doors. He would be led by a trusted individual to his rooms, where he would sleep off his hangover and rest well until morning, and already the party seemed to quieten down into a mild thrum of activity and conversation, with the centre of attention now removed for the night. Volstagg chuckled.

“They don’t seem to know what to do without him,” said Volstagg.

“They have lost their puppet and toy.”

“Ah, I see.” Volstagg laughed and shook his head. “You’ve had one too many to drink. Thor has proven himself time and time again to be an excellent warrior, while your father seems to have the utmost faith in him. You were both born to be kings, yes? If this is mere jealousy, I am sure you can prove yourself in other ways, my friend. You are still wanted.”

“He is hot-headed, spontaneous, stubborn -!” Loki pinched the bridge of his nose. “It would take but a mere insult against his person to have him rousing us into war, and what should come of our carefully arranged peace treaties and truces then? He would ruin us.”

“Your words amount to treason, Loki. You must know this.”

Volstagg looked back to the party. He bit his lip to avoid speaking out of turn, although he would admit to reservations the same as Loki, and – with a sigh – slapped his hand on Loki’s shoulder and nodded toward the hall. There was still a warm and buzzing atmosphere, enough to occupy even the greatest of minds, but he caught how one of the servants glared at Loki from afar, as well as how the guards stayed clear of him. Volstagg looked to Loki, who turned his head away with a playful smirk, and he sighed with a rub of his beard.

“Go to bed, Loki,” said Volstagg. “Rest away the wine.”

The wind blew with it the scent of perfumes and incense. It was easy to get lost in the various aromas, from food to people to wine, and all the while that mingled with the music that echoed about the hall and the conversations that lingered about the crowds. Volstagg listened to snippets of sentences and stray words, as people danced to and fro with skirts and capes almost floating on the air, and – through it all – Loki remained silent and only observed from beside Volstagg. Loki sighed and looked up to the stars, as he conceded:

“You may be right.”

“Of course I’m right, friend,” chirped Volstagg.

Loki stood upright, as he kicked at the crushed grapes. A smear of blood-like liquid spread about the stone, while the skins clung to one another and the edge of Loki’s boot, and – once destroyed – they would never be fully-formed again. A strange sense of loss overcame Volstagg, along with an ominous sense of foreboding, and he bit his lip until he tasted iron, afraid that Loki would deal with his problems much as he dealt with all other problems.

“I shall check in on Thor before I retire,” said Loki. “If he is to be king, I shall prove my worth as his right-hand and see that he does not drown in his own vomit. A dead king is worse than a bad king by far, although – I imagine – many would beg to differ.”

“Your mood is far too dark tonight. Why not drink some more?”

“When you have just told me I have drank too much?”

Loki smiled and looked to Volstagg with a warm expression. It was these small moments in which the ‘trickster’ vanished and the lost boy shone through, and every paternal instinct in Volstagg’s body called for him to reassure Loki, even if he knew the class differences between them made it inappropriate. He stepped forward to clap a hand on Loki’s shoulder and opened his mouth to chirp words of reassurance, but Loki stepped away from him.

“I think not,” said Loki. “Excuse me.”

Loki moved through the crowds with relative ease, occasionally casting the odd ‘spell’ so as to distort his appearance and merge in with the many, and – after a few such tricks – he was completely out of sight and beyond the reach of his friends. Volstagg shook his head with a chuckle and wandered back into the hall, where his eyes moved in search of his companions, and he quirked an eyebrow in response to how they were all scattered to the winds.

Hogun lingered on a bent knee near to the king, where they talked at great length over some issue or other, while Fandral found a noblewoman with which to flirt and tease, apparently oblivious to the looks she sent her friend and the way she stepped away from him. Heimdall hid on the outskirts, while other faces blurred into one and became an indecipherable mess, and soon Volstagg knew the amount of familiar faces would fade away, leaving no one but the most dedicated of party-goers and loyal of servants to clean up after them.

The music changed into something soft and sombre, while the lights dimmed, and the food upon the tables grew sparse. Volstagg saw the greasy bones on large platters, with the pits and stones of fruit in small bowls, and empty plates with various skins and scraps, until the faded scents no longer provided much a temptation. He smiled absently to himself, as Sif wandered through the dwindling crowd and came beside him with a whispered:

“Is Loki well?”

“He is a little drunk, nothing more,” said Volstagg. “I will check upon them both later on, once the mead ran dry, but it’s nothing more than sibling rivalry on Loki’s part, rest assured. I’d be very surprised if anything bad came of it. You know how brothers are!”

“You all give Loki too much leniency.” Sif folded her arms with a hiss of breath. “Loki has made it no secret that he finds Thor unfit to rule, although I believe Thor has been the only person so far not to see his blatant doubt, and it is only a matter of time before Loki takes matters into his own hands and does something to sabotage the upcoming ceremony.”

“That would be tantamount to treason,” murmured Volstagg.

Sif rolled her eyes and looked to the main doors. The dress moved with her, so that the silver lines glittered and shone in the light, and Volstagg saw in her the woman his daughters might one day become, all so fascinated by fancy decorations and by battle. He still struggled to see Sif as an adult, with too many memories of her in training, and it was difficult to reconcile the young girl with the strong woman that now trained new recruits. Sif continued to silently observe the hall with observant eyes, until a clock chimed to alert the late hour.

“Keep a close eye upon him,” warned Sif.

Volstagg watched her leave in turn, followed by Frigga not far behind. The two women walked side-by-side, arms interlocked as Frigga brushed away a stray lock of hair from Sif, and – seeing a little of himself in the queen – he saw a woman unable to separate child from adult, still clinging to the memories of the past instead of realising the reality of the present. He blushed to realise his age, as he sighed and left not far behind to check on Loki.

The hallways of the main palace were deserted; the courtyard could be heard, as people bustled to and fro, even far beyond those walls and windows, and he paused at one set of bay windows to look below at those waiting for transport home or lingering to converse. He saw them slowly break apart in the darkness, before dispelling for the city without, and he watched for longer than was necessary with a sad sense of separation. Volstagg smiled and continued along the corridors with the occasional nod to the guards. He kept forward.

It was always a joy to move among royalty. The large ceilings were higher than anything experienced among the homes of the common Asgardian, while his footsteps echoed on expensive tiles underfoot, and the doors to each room stood ominous and proud. Volstagg walked slowly along the hallway to the private royal chambers; he knew the way to Thor’s rooms well enough, as did they all, but Loki was such a private man that he only had occasion to enter his rooms once in all the years of knowing the young prankster.

Volstagg paused. He was tempted to ask the guards to check in on the prince in his place, perhaps simply checking in on Thor alone and tasking him to see Loki, but – as he stood still in the empty hallway – he heard a strange noise from Thor’s bedroom. It was the familiar low grunts that Volstagg sometimes overheard on hunts or battles off-planet, which brought a blush to his cheeks, but the other voice was not a feminine one. It was masculine.

“Thor?” Volstagg called. “Is that you, my friend?”

The grunts from Thor were unusual, almost slurred and dreamlike, while those of the other male were pained and high-pitched, so that the two combined into some awful cacophony of noise, where it was impossible to tell whether either enjoyed what occurred, but the noises were frequent and passionate, merging until there was no question that a sexual act was occurring in some form or another. Still, something was not right. Volstagg – with a shaking hand, afraid to disturb Thor’s basic right to privacy – threw open the door.

It was black inside. Volstagg struggled to adjust his eyes, but saw a blurred figure above Thor with legs astride him, and – on a closer look – he saw a green or black robe about the crook of the man’s arms that provided a modicum of modesty, but the next thing he noticed was that the hair on the man was black and the skin so pale. The man had his back to Volstagg, while blocking Thor from sight, but it took only a few more seconds to realise the truth.

Volstagg exclaimed in a loud voice:

“What is this?”

 


	2. Chapter 2

“My son,” whispered Frigga.

Loki sat awkwardly on his bed. The rough tunic and bottoms were a far-cry from his usual attire, although the light green provided a small comfort, as he – at the very least – had not forsaken his personal style and preferences, but his hair was loose and matted. Frigga reached out to untangle those wild black locks, but he flinched away and looked coldly to her with half-closed and watery green eyes. Frigga swallowed hard and pulled back.

The dark furs that lined the bed were pulled up to his waist, but – due to how he sat with legs pulled up, spread enough to lean forward and rest his forearms upon – they tented and made it look as if he took up far more space than reality presented. Frigga noticed the bruises on his neck, which were yet to be treated, as well as blood upon the floor and the sheets. The room could only be described as a ‘wreck’. Books were strewn about, some broken from their spines, while washbasins were upturned and water soaked into the rugs beneath.

Frigga could not bear to see the paintings slashed in their frames, or the ornaments trampled underfoot, and her stomach would churn every time she thought about how Loki would refuse to let her tend to his wounds, including the cuts to the soles of his feet from what Odin had dubbed his ‘tantrum’. He was so pale. The bruises only stood out all the more violent, while Frigga blinked away tears and turned away from such a sight. It was too much.

“Thank you, Volstagg,” whispered Frigga. “You have done well by my son.”

Volstagg stood in a far corner of the room, not far from the head of the bed. He kept his head low and half-bowed to Frigga with a slight blush to his cheeks, as he clasped his hands before him and kept his eyes cast low upon the floor, and – as she looked to him – she saw the tremble to his lips and the deepening of the lines upon his eyes. The darkness beyond the large floor-to-ceiling windows now gave way to the beginnings of light, and yet shadows were cast over Volstagg as he looked up to Frigga and said in a quiet voice:

“I should have followed him to his rooms, my lady.”

“Nonsense,” said Frigga. “My son had experienced a great trauma; you know as well as I do how Loki often seeks to retreat in moments of great distress, as such you did what you thought to be right by allowing him to process his emotions in peace, and as for this –” Frigga waved a hand about the room “– no one could anticipate such a reaction.”

“I swore my allegiance to your family, madam.” Volstagg winced and shook his head. “I say this with the utmost respect, but I _should_ have foreseen such a reaction. The claims laid by Loki are most severe, as such they would warrant a severe reaction, but this . . .”

“This is something we shall overcome together.”

Frigga reached out with a gentle touch. Loki flinched a little as her fingers – marred with time, wrinkled by age – brushed back a stray lock, and yet soon leaned into her open palm, as she stroked at his cheek before he let out a shuddered sigh. It brought a smile to her lips, as she signalled to Volstagg to the washbasin and then to the adjacent _en suite._ Volstagg nodded in acknowledgement of the silent command. He moved with great speed.

“We are family, Loki,” whispered Frigga.

The sun came slowly over the far horizon, so that a beautiful golden hue washed over the room, and Loki slowly laid himself back among the sea of pillows, as his hair splayed about him like a halo around his pale expression. Frigga bit her inner lip. She listened to the sounds of running water from beyond. A small comfort came from being by Loki’s side, but the accusations of Thor lingered in her mind and created a seed of guilt. Thor was also her son. It was impossible to tend to both, but the division only emphasised the cruelty of the crime.

Volstagg returned with the basin and carried with him a stand. He placed the bowl beside Frigga and the bed, returning to his place in the corner of the room, and – as he gave silent witness – Frigga lifted the furs and exposed only the lower half of his legs. There blood about the sheets, as the open wounds upon his feet on just began to clot, and so she carefully extended those lower limbs and laid them flat for her to tend. They looked painful.

“You must speak to the healers about this self-injurious behaviour,” said Frigga.

Nothing was said. Frigga slowly wrung out a water-soaked cloth, before testing the warmth upon her wrist and elbow out of a long-learnt habit from his childhood years, and carefully washed around the several cuts about his skin. A slight cast of magic revealed the glass pieces were safe to remove, and – as Volstagg quickly found some tweezers – she pulled each and every piece from his foot, even as he hissed and winced and tried to pull away. Frigga maintained a firm grip on his ankle and asked in a quiet voice:

“What happened, Loki?”

He laughed a dark and hollow sound, broken only by soft cries as pieces of glass were removed, and he looked to her with half-narrowed eyes and a curled lip. The way he moved was reminiscent of a broken marionette doll, with each loll of his head or flop of his arm speaking to her of sheer exhaustion, and already his eyes looked bloodshot with dark bags beneath them. He spoke to her in a hoarse and broken voice:

“Isn’t that obvious?”

“No,” admitted Frigga. “It is not.”

“I went into his room to check upon him.” Loki laughed, until he winced at the first-aid. “It is no secret how Thor drinks, and so I thought that it was best I see to him, lest he choke to death on his vomit or suffocate in his sleep with face pressed to his pillows. I sat beside him on his bed, before realising that he was out cold. I saw it to myself to undress him, so that he would be safe to sleep and not tormented by his armour, but that was when he stirred.

“He – He started to pat and prod upon me. I can only assume he believed me to be a conquest or – or someone who consented to such manhandling, but it irked me more than I can say, enough that I sat astride him and slapped him fully awake. It infuriated him. I – I do not recall how one thing led to another, but there was a struggle and I laughed . . . I laughed because we fight and spar so often that I assumed this would lead to nothing more than a match of strength, but his touches advanced and my robe . . . it tore . . .”

Loki looked over to the sofa centre of his room. There – much to Frigga’s growing despair – sat the familiar green robe with a visible rip across the seams to the upper arm, along with a tear to the lower back that would not be fixed with any ease. Loki blinked several times, before he drew in a deep breath and clenched his fists. It looked as if he held his breath, until some colour came to his cheeks, but soon that breath was let out in a long snarl that turned into a cry and soon a scream. He stopped only when his voice broke into a series of sobs, before he bent forward and wept into his open hands. Frigga allowed a tear to fall.

“You need not say more, my boy,” promised Frigga.

Loki shook his head and pulled his legs back, throwing back the furs to hide his limbs from sight, and Volstagg – seemingly desperate for distraction – ran toward the basin and removed it to the _en suite_ , pouring the dirty water down into the porcelain baths. The silence between them only led to Frigga obsessing over how quickly her heart raced, while noticing the manner in which her mouth ran dry, and her hands shook as she played with the wet cloth about her hands. Loki slowed his breathing, as he fought back an attack of hyperventilation, before collapsing back about the bed and staring coldly at the ceiling above. He continued.

“It was a blur what happened next,” croaked Loki. “The next thing in my memory is a hand encircled about my throat. It was after he . . . _entered_ me. It provided a fair distraction from the pain inside. I do not even quite recall the entry itself. I simply remember my laughing at his drunken stupor and aggressive provocations, only to descend into panicked weeping as I strove to fight him off, and I – I clawed at him. I drew blood. I stopped when he choked me in earnest, but held upon his hips to bear the pain, and then . . . then Volstagg found us . . .

“It was only when I clawed at him that I saw any trace of humanity. I saw the shock in his eyes, along with the pain and panic and horror, but that did not seem to stop him . . . it was as if the full realisation only drove him forwards. If I could take back going into his room, I would do so in a heartbeat! How can I go back? How can I undo what I have done? I did not expect him to react as he reacted or to treat me with such violence. I swear. _I swear_!”

“Loki, you simply sought to do your duty by your brother. We will know more in the upcoming days, but simply know this: he is being questioned. Lady Sif, Fandral and your father are seeking his version of events, after which we can begin to move forward and reconcile this unfortunate event, but until then know that you did _no_ wrong.”

“I knew that he was drunk. I knew that he would not react well.” Loki ran a hand over his reddened cheeks and shook his head through tears. “I knew there was a chance of backfire, yet I chose to go in there. How can I forgive myself for such a mistake?”

“You went in to play a prank upon him,” interrupted Volstagg.

Volstagg jumped as two sets of eyes fell upon him. He coughed and turned red in the face, as he looked everywhere but at Frigga or Loki, and – as she looked to him – she saw the sheer humiliation writ on his features from having spoken aloud. Frigga drew in a deep breath and looked to her son, whose eyes hardened and whose lips pursed into a thin line, and there was a deep hiss of breath through his nose. Volstagg scratched his neck and said:

“I’m sorry, Loki.”

Loki smiled and slumped further back in his bed. He gazed to the ceiling in an unfocussed and half-lidded manner, and – as Frigga weighed the wet cloth in her hands – she sighed and brought it to his forehead to mop at his brow. He closed his eyes at last, while one of the open windows let in a cool breeze and the sound of the morning birds upon his balcony, and the light from the sunrise finally brought some colour to his cheeks. Loki was often strict to the point of having guards flogged, but he said nothing of Volstagg speaking out of turn except:

“No, you are right.”

The words hung heavy in the air; it was hardly a surprise, but still something forced Frigga to tighten her grip enough that a small stream of water trickled from the cloth over Loki’s forehead, and – just as it soaked through his hair onto the pillow beneath – she pulled back the cloth and sat beside Loki with a firm movement. Loki turned his head to look away, but she pulled his gaze by a firm hold on his chin and said in a cool voice:

“I thought you agreed to no longer prank your brother.”

“How could I resist?”

Loki smiled in such a way that Frigga nearly forgot his pain. It was the smile of the young boy who would transform his image into innocuous creatures, before he would jump out to terrify his brother and gain an upper-hand, and the smile of the teenager who finally won against his mother in a sparring match, as sheer pride shone through his eyes as the dagger in his hand bounced up-and-down with childish movements. Frigga smiled in turn, until Loki’s lips trembled and tears welled up in his eyes, and suddenly her heart sank and tears fell.

“It is why I cannot forgive myself,” admitted Loki.

“You did not ask for this,” said Frigga.

“No, but I invited it.” Loki laughed. “I was taught better than to leave any potential outcome unexplored, as such I should have anticipated his rage or drunken reactions, and I should have done more to avoid being caught, and yet . . . even in my worst anticipated scenario . . . I never expected such violation. I never expected _this_! He looked at me with such hate . . .”

Loki drew in a staggered breath and sat upright. He was on the verge of weeping, but to show such a degree of emotion before others would only bring him intense shame, and – as such – Frigga gently nodded to Volstagg and to the door. He took the hint. Volstagg left with soft footsteps and a mere click of the door, before he vanished out of sight, and Loki immediately let out a broken noise that could only be described as a mewl of emotion. He let his tears flow, although he still held back and every muscle in his body looked tense.

“I wish to be alone,” said Loki.

Frigga stood up, as she bit into her lip and swallowed hard. It took all her strength to reach out to him, knowing the risk it might cause him to pull further away, and yet – with a strange resignation – he allowed her to stroke on his cheek. The skin was cold and the tears were wet, but she knew that her tears would only force him to hide his pain further, and what was needed more than anything was an emotional release. Frigga nodded to him and promised:

“I will check on you soon.”

* * *

Fandral winced as the glass shattered.

A stream of water ran down the wall, as the glass scattered about the blankets, and Thor – indifferent to his friends around him – took another glass from the table and threw it hard to the same spot above the bed. The hundreds of small shards covered the creased and stained sheets, enough that it would be impossible to lie safely upon, but Thor only continued to throw every last breakable object in its direction. Porcelain, glass, wood splinters . . .

Sif walked across the room towards Thor. An open palm was pressed against his chest, while she looked up with brown eyes into the face of their prince, and – in the darkness of the early morning – she locked his gaze and narrowed her eyes. The bedroom was warm from the dying embers centre of the room, while the closed doors and windows only further trapped the heat within, and a heavy sweat drenched over Thor despite wearing nothing save for a light pair of sleeping trousers. They hung loose on his hips. Thor breathed rapidly.

“You are on the verge of a panic attack,” observed Sif.

Fandral stood and walked over to her, where he noticed how Thor’s heart visibly moved against his chest and how his muscles heaved with the exertion of every breath, and – clenching his fist until the knuckles turned white – the glass in Thor’s hold shattered and cut into his palm and embedded shards upon his flesh. Thor cursed, but simply pulled away and tended to his wound while Sif looked to Fandral and jerked her eyes in Thor’s direction, before she made her way over to the bed and stripped it of all the sheets.

He bit into his lip and watched Sif for a brief second. The gown clung to her figure and emphasised her femininity, while her loose hair was nothing like how it was worn in battle, and – with a wince and a silent curse – he punched at the air by his waist. It was not the time to make any advances, but the situation that unfolded was far beyond his expertise. Thor was incensed. Thor paced back and forth, back and forth, with a hand buried in his hair.

The blood on his right hand smeared upon his forehead, leaving a bright red stain in the barely lit room, while Thor – blinking away tears – looked between his two friends with a slightly curled lip and flushed cheeks. Fandral raised his hands in mock surrender, as he slowly stepped towards him and guided him towards the _chaise longue_ where he sat with surprising obedience, and Sif continued to fold the soiled sheets and moved them outside for the servants to collect, before returning to sit opposite them with a low sigh of breath.

“The Allfather will be with us shortly,” said Fandral.

“Why do you not try to sleep?” Sif suggested.

“I will not sleep in that bed!” Thor bellowed. “He had no right – _no right_ – to take what he did from me! I may be no blushing maiden, but every relationship of mine was a serious one based upon respect. He is my _brother_! What right had he to do this? What did I do to anger him so much that he would ruin our reputations, risk time in the dungeons, to – to –?”

Thor wrung the air with muscled fingers. He looked towards the doors to his room, where beyond there could be heard the scurry of feet and whispered comments, and Fandral could only look to Sif with a long face and half-open mouth, as he silently pleaded with her for some sign as how to progress in such difficult talks. The silence between them was uncomfortable, a far cry from their parties and hunts and group chats, and – every time Fandral moved his foot – a little squeak of leather would awkwardly break the quiet.

“I know we have our differences, but he is my brother.” Thor pursed his lips and blinked away tears. “I never expected to feel this level of violation. We have fought and argued and threatened, but we never crossed lines that could not be uncrossed! He was always the one to calm me down, to whisper in my ear, to reassure me of all that was to come, but now -?”

“Maybe – Maybe it’s a misunderstanding?” Fandral furrowed his brow and waved his hand. “A few crossed wires or something of that sort? Loki has always been one on his own, but this -? _This_ is something beyond the pale! I’m sure we are missing something.”

“How can one mistake a rape?” Sif asked. “I think what happened is clear.”

“I just never pegged Loki as a rapist!” Fandral shrugged with a hiss of breath. “Do you know he’s supposedly saving himself? I heard it said that his conquests only went so far, but he _always_ stopped at a certain point . . . a hopeless romantic at heart. I dated a woman once who _swore_ his silver tongue could do more than just lie, but he that was all she got to experience.”

Sif flushed a dark shade of red. It was unlike her to be flustered with such topics, but she turned her head away with a curled lip and glared at a fixed spot far upon the floor, and Thor – with a groan that soon turned into a growl – spun around where he sat and slammed his fist onto the _chaise longue_. The cushions jostled with the force of the blow, knocking Fandral over until he was forced to grip the back to stay upright. He looked up to see the unshed tears upon Thor’s eyes that were blinked away and replaced by a white-hot rage. Thor yelled out:

“Am I to be _grateful_ I am his first?”

Fandral said nothing, but looked down with paled cheeks. The latticed window, left from the archway to the balcony, slowly let through patterns shadows from the sunrise beyond, and those shadows stretched into ominous shapes before them. He listened to Thor’s heavy breath and chanced a glance to see a rage that was so rarely encountered, and he cursed himself for having spoken so casually about such a dark and serious issue. Fandral bit into his lip.

“That – ah – wasn’t what I meant,” said Fandral. “I apologise.”

“He lays these accusations at me and yet you defend him!”

“I am merely trying to _understand_ ,” pleaded Fandral.

A knock came upon the door.

All heads turned. The doors were opened out by the guards beyond. Fandral stood at once when he saw the Allfather in the doorway, dressed in casual attire and yet clearly roused from a deep sleep, and – as the doors closed behind him – he signalled with a wrinkled hand to Fandral and Sif to take their seats. They looked to one another and then to Thor, who sat with back hunched over and legs parted, and he clasped his hands between his legs with barely any recognition that his father entered his rooms. Odin sighed and signalled once more.

“Please, remain seated,” said Odin.

They obeyed the order without question. Odin walked slowly with an odd gait across the bedchambers, before he took a seat beside Sif and folded his hands upon his lap, and as he sat Fandral noted the deep lines about his eyes and mouth, as age overcome even the most powerful of all men within their realm. The grey hair only made his skin look paler still, but his blue eye were alert and sharp and observed every detail about the room with strict attention, until he finally looked upon his son and took in a deep and slow breath.

Thor chanced a glance to his father, where his expression changed at once, and – while Thor was often unafraid of Odin and willing to confront him – there was instead a pleading expression as he half-parted his lips and blinked rapidly with flushed cheeks. It was unusual to see him so vulnerable, but Fandral knew there was no smashing or fighting his way out of this predicament. No one could undo the rape he endured. Odin nodded to him and said:

“Your mother and Volstagg are with Loki.”

Thor furrowed his brow and slowly nodded in acknowledgement. He looked down at the rug beneath his bare feet, while his hands clenched into tight fists, and one of the cuts on his hand – only just healing – reopened with the pressure and dripped slowly upon the fabric below with the steady speed of a metronome. Thor hissed in pain and shook his hand, before he looked back to Odin and asked in a cold and monotone voice:

“Has he yet confessed to his crime?”

“No,” admitted Odin.

“I _swear_ to you, Father, I have done nothing wrong.” Thor leaned forward and jabbed the air. “He is _lying_ and I know not why! I do not know what more I can say, except that I did _nothing_ wrong, and I worry. I worry, because I swore to always love and protect him, but I do not know what I did to make him act this way, and – and I do not know if I can forgive this.”

Thor collapsed back upon the _chaise longue_. The huge muscles on his arms flexed and moved as he clenched and opened his fists, but soon he slumped forward and buried his face within his hands with a heavy exhale of breath. Fandral reached out to pat his shoulder, but the muscles underhand tensed and Thor turned to look at him with a hard gaze. He pulled back, only to glance at Sif and Odin and saw that the reaction was not lost upon them, and Odin sat forward and locked eyes with his son, as he said in a firm voice:

“Tell me what happened, Thor.”

“I half-awoke some time during the night,” said Thor in a low voice. “I half-remember and half-dreamt a woman above me, one that teased and laughed and prodded, and I also remember her body well. I remember she wore nought but an open robe, and – while I should have questioned her presence – I was still far too drunk and exhausted, and I felt as if I were still caught among a dream, but I remember being undressed which was odd.

“I slept in my armour, but here I was naked with an attractive woman. I reciprocated and touched upon her, but – after a few touches – she half-slapped me and laughed, telling me someone would be in soon to check upon us, and what would people think? The look in her eyes was devilish, but she continued to tease and mocked and so I continued.”

“What appearance did Loki take to torment you?” Odin asked.

“No one that I could recognise,” lied Thor.

Sif scoffed and Odin hissed in breath. Fandral said nothing, but he looked to his friend and saw abject shame writ across his features, as he stared hard at the floor and blinked away tears, and the way his jaw tensed and his throat bobbed spoke of a man desperate to hold back sheer emotion. It almost didn’t matter whose appearance Loki stole, but clearly it held meaning to Thor, especially from how Thor let out a shuddered breath and threw back his head to stare up at the ceiling, as he licked at his lips and shrugged.

“The rest is mostly a blur to me,” admitted Thor.

“What do you next remember?”

“I remember being frustrated by her flirtations and teasing, enough that I grew rough and considered her the type to enjoy rough play and mock battle, and yet she grew testy and fought back in earnest, by which point sleep overcame me again and I only remember a vague dream. I remember entering her, but it feeling nothing like how a woman should feel, and I remember a mixture of confusion and real sensation awakening me.

“It was then he scratched me. I had a hand about his throat, but he clawed deep lines down my chest, and it was that which fully awoke me. I looked up and saw Loki. I was inside him and I was aroused and I was _sickened_. The dream about the woman became a reality with my brother, and I was sick until my stomach . . . violated, deceived, abused . . .

“I let my anger overwhelm me and I choked him with all my might. I wanted him to suffer for what he did to me, and I wanted him to remove himself from my body, but he looked to me with sheer horror and fear that I almost believed him an innocent victim. He came to me as – as a maiden I knew, but took advantage of me when I was in no position to resist, and then appeared frightened when I retaliated in sheer rage. The next thing I remember was a simultaneous release and a sense of humiliation as Volstagg entered and saw us.”

“A release?” Odin asked in a quiet voice.

“It was beyond my control.” Thor ran a hand over his mouth. “It is enough to kill my libido for a lifetime, and I cannot describe how mortified I feel to know that such a thing could be wrenched from me without my consent, and I fail to understand how my body can enjoy what my mind hated upon every level. My head hurts from the pressure and rage, while my eyes ache from the force of my tears, and yet – yes – there was somehow a release.”

“These things unfortunately happen,” interrupted Fandral. “It has no bearing on what happened to you, Thor. You are the victim in this and your reaction was an involuntary one, which is nothing to be ashamed about! I am sure the healers will provide some therapy, should you need it, or you can come hunt with us on some faraway planet.”

“It will take more than a hunt to overcome such trauma,” said Sif.

“Well, of course, but distraction is a start, is it not?”

Odin abruptly stood. All eyes fell on him, as Fandral noticed his pale face and parted lips, and – for a brief moment – he almost believed the Allfather afraid. There was a tremble to his hand, which came up to hide his mouth from sight, and his other hand raised to signal for silence, and Thor – despite his trauma – stood with a quirked eyebrow and firm gaze. He made to step forward, but Odin simply shook his head and walked towards the doors.

He moved with quick and graceful strides, until he reached the doors and knocked upon them, and – as he stood tall with a deep breath to centre himself – the doors opened before him and the guards on either side bowed before their king. The sun rose high from beyond the windows, casting long shadows about him, and Fandral noticed the pained expression to his face and how his lips pursed into a tight line. It was one of the rare few times he saw his king as not just a royal figure, but a man prone to conflict as any other. Odin said in a loud voice:

“I will leave you with your friends, Thor.”

“Where will you go?” Thor asked.

“To your mother,” admitted Odin. “I cannot believe either of my sons capable of such evil, but – currently – that is the least of our problems. There is a more pressing matter that we must address, although I will admit that I desire to hear Loki’s side of events, but I shall speak more once your mother is aware of the issue. Rest for now. We will speak tomorrow.”

Odin quickly vanished from sight, as the bedroom doors closed behind him. The silence that flooded the area was awkward and lingered, until Sif drew in a deep breath and busied herself with remaking the bed that was in need of new linens and furs and blankets. Thor collapsed down onto the _chaise longue_ like a broken man, with face buried in his hands, and Fandral was left to wonder what ‘matters’ could be more important than an accusation of rape. He slumped down beside his closest friend and tried to push such thoughts from his mind.

Fandral swallowed back his dread.

 


	3. Chapter 3

Frigga sat before her reflection.

The bedchambers were awash with a golden light, which only made the white of Odin’s nightshirt all the brighter to the eyes, and she watched – as the soft brush ran through her hair – the way he busied himself with seemingly innocuous tasks. It was nothing to note at first, but soon she noticed how he pulled at the furs of the bed to make them more align with the sheets, just as she noticed how he would absently smooth the creases of his nightdress.

It brought a smile to her lips to see him pause in distraction before turning to some new and unnecessary task, but – as she put down the hairbrush with a small click of porcelain upon wood – she noticed the way his brows furrowed and his lips pursed. The scent of perfume and cologne was heavy in the air, although those would be scents swept away during the course of the night and through natural moments of intimacy, and yet they were heavy and heady enough to bring a spark of discomfort. Too much normalcy when the day was so traumatic.

“It has been a long day,” observed Frigga.

Odin heaved a long exhale of breath. He turned to walk behind her, where his rough and callused hands rested on her barely concealed shoulders, and – with a sigh of pleasure – she closed her eyes to allow him to massage the tension from her muscles. Odin touched her with great expertise; a lifetime of knowing each other – of knowing no other – had brought with it a degree of intimacy that brought a smile every time, as if each time he touched her it was that first time all over again. Frigga opened her eyes to look at him in the reflection.

The way their eyes met brought a blush to both sets of cheeks, until Frigga looked away with a giggle far younger than her years, and Odin coughed as if to hide his vulnerability with a momentary distraction. Frigga reached up to take his hands, before pulled him forward to place a chaste kiss to his lips. He embraced her from behind, while he breathed deep at her loose and golden hair, and pulled away with another kiss to the crown of her head.

Odin pulled away with only the soft rustle of his sleeve upon hers, as he made his way over to the large bed and crawled into his side, which – although he would never admit it – had dipped over the years to match the curves of his added weight. They would soon need to replace the mattress, but until then the shared memories of personal conversations and moments of intimacy would always provide a sense of comfort. Frigga unclasped her earrings and necklace, as she asked over her shoulder to Odin:

“Do you remember when they were children?”

“Aye,” said Odin. “Just as a handful then as they are now.”

“I remember when Loki spoke at great length to Thor.” Frigga smiled as she stood before the vanity. “Do you recall how he convinced Thor how one only became king with the loss of an eye? He claimed it was why your eye was removed. We were lucky that it was only a butter knife used in the attempt, as well as Thor’s apparent squeamishness.”

“I still believe that Loki did not ‘mistake’ the knife, just as I do not believe a guard ‘happened’ to overhear, but – regardless – it did prove an amusing tale with which to humiliate his brother for some years to come. I also remember what prompted his prank.”

“Ah, Thor _would_ leave Mjölnir in unfortunate places.”

“Loki’s bed,” murmured Odin. “Loki’s books.”

“There was Loki’s toilet on one occasion.”

Odin laughed. He rested upon his back and gazed upward, as Frigga slid into the bed beside him, and extended the arm nearest to her side, so that she could ease herself against him and rest her head on his chest. A warm hand came up to stroke her hair, each brush soft and gentle, and she knew it would be enough to coax her into sleep before long, but first there were things to be said and questions to be answered. Her hand played with the hem of his long collar, while she gnawed on her lip and blinked away oncoming tears.

“Loki has not left his rooms all day,” confessed Frigga.

Odin tensed and hissed in breath. The hand on her hair froze for a brief second, enough to pull with a slight ounce of pain, before he released entirely and silently cursed. He continued to stroke, but this time the movements were more broken and firm, and she disliked how he used his palm rather than ran his fingers through her hair. Frigga looked up to see his eye cold and hard, while his lips were pursed into a white line. Frigga asked in a quiet voice:

“What brought them from pranks to such violence?”

“Heimdall was unable to see what transpired,” admitted Odin. “It appears that Loki has developed means with his magic to evade Heimdall’s eyes, which initially only wrought further suspicion upon him. I believe this was more of a case of a prank gone wrong, although it is difficult to see which made the mistake. That is what I cannot uncover.”

“You think Loki shielded himself from Heimdall to commit such a prank?” Frigga moved closer against Odin and held tight to him. “He would not divulge the details to me, no matter how much I asked, but I refuse to believe his motives to be insidious, my love.”

“Thor claimed that he was visited in a half-sleep by a young maiden.”

Frigga froze against Odin, before gently removing herself from him and rearranging the pillows at the head of the bed, and – as she sat upright and looked down at him – he looked up with a slight tremble to his lip and a half-broken smile. She reached down to stroke on his cheek, only for him to reach out to her hand in turn and hold it clasped against him, as he kissed the inside of her wrist and let out a shuddered breath. Frigga allowed a tear to fall, while her heart raced and a sinking sensation overcame her stomach, and whispered:

“You believe Loki took the appearance of another.”

“It is a common tactic of his,” said Odin. “One that Thor falls prey to every time. He once took the appearance of a large snake, only to reveal himself when Thor came close and attempted thus to stab him, and why -? Thor bested him in battle and belittled him. Loki found the humiliation before his class and friends a justifiable case for revenge.”

“What would be the purpose of appearing as some other this time?”

“Only Loki could answer that, but I suspect – with the timing of his intrusion and his mention of someone coming in to check upon them – that he sought to cause a scandal and delay the coronation. He likely appeared under the guise of someone that would cause the most amount of gossip, hoping to be caught in the midst of flirtations and inappropriate touches, at which point the maiden would ‘flee’ and Thor would be left with questions to answer.

“I believe Loki instigated matters. I also believe he never intended for it to end as it ended.” Odin struggled to sit upright, exhausted by the small exertion. “I can only speculate on what occurred, but I imagine that Thor was the one to penetrate Loki, likely in a drunken and exhausted state, unaware of his actions. I believe him as far as that point within his tale.”

“At what point do you consider our eldest prone to lies?”

“I believe it more an omission of truth.”

Odin sat back upon the pillows with hands clasped on his lap. Frigga moved closer, so that her arms could wrap around his waist, and placed a chaste kiss to his neck that brought a soft moan to his lips, as he tilted his head to allow her better access. It was a gesture that may have led to more at any other point, but instead her fear refused to slow her racing heart and his heavy resignation made the lines about his face all the deeper. He spoke again, but his voice was broken and weak and filled with far too much emotion:

“I believe he continued even once awake.”

The silence between them was broken only by the beating of his heart, and – as she raised a hand to rest against his chest – she felt the speed to which it beat, and a small flutter of worry stole away her breath as she clenched her eyes shut and closed her fist. The idea of her two sons accidentally engaging in something so traumatic was horrific enough, but to imagine that Thor would continue crossed the line into something much more intentional. It would amount to rape without discussion or debate. It was a cruelty impossible to consider.

Odin wrapped his arms around her, as he pulled her into his lap. Frigga sat upon him with her head buried into the crook of his neck, while a hand came up to play with his long locks of grey hair, and she swallowed hard a lump in her throat that stung with its force and size. The tears that ran down her cheeks were only slowed at the sensation of one on her neck, and – as she looked into the face of her husband – she whispered a quiet:

“That is a cold accusation.”

“You say that Loki claims it was only when blood was drawn?” Odin heaved a long sigh. “Thor claims that was the point he awoke. I believe he was repulsed and believe he felt violated, and I struggle to lay blame upon either boy until that point. Loki placed himself in such a precarious position, likely for Machiavellian means, and Thor did what he did in an almost delirious state, too unaware of his actions to be fully responsible. I simply do not believe that Thor would stop or find immediate release, not with his temper as it stands.”

“It is true that his few fights with Loki have been the stuff of sheer legends,” admitted Frigga. “I simply cannot believe he would continue to violate Loki in revenge, but I have been told by Lady Sif that he admitted to choking Loki and Loki himself admits that was when Thor’s rage began in earnest. If Thor awoke to what he assumed to be a rape, any fury and retaliation would be seen by him as justified, but to Loki it would be nothing but rape.”

“I fear who is ‘responsible’ is less of the issue here.”

The words hung heavy in the air. Frigga remembered well the times they were intimate within their youth, where days would follow either with desperate excitement or dreaded fear, depending on what point in their lives they were, and Frigga remembered well how those releases would feel inside. The pleasure and intimacy were always followed with very real possibilities, but those were possibilities she prayed to now never see into reality. Frigga pressed her forehead to Odin, as she struggled to find breath, and said:

“You say Thor found a release.”

Odin let out a shuddered breath, as he brought a hand around the back of Frigga’s neck. He gently rubbed the bare skin with the back of his thumb, while he pressed a long kiss to her lips with a tear on his cheek, and – as he held her close – a part of her wished he could show such emotion and vulnerability to their sons. They so often saw the ‘king’ and ‘father’, but so very rarely saw the man behind both facades. Frigga smiled through her tears.

“Indeed,” confessed Odin.

“I can see why Loki omitted that part of events.” Frigga winced and looked away. “I can understand his sense of shame, but we must find a way to convince him to seek the healers. If he has been taken with child, that is something that we must address immediately, but – if possible – I would rather avoid talk of his heritage unless absolutely necessary.”

“You think he will react badly,” said Odin in a quiet voice.

“I know how much it hurts you to think of his rejection, but – rest assured – he loves you more than anything in this world and the one thing he seeks above all else is your approval. I can only foresee him reacting badly should he feel this makes him less of an Odinson, especially as he has always felt less than Thor and imagined him to be favourite. We clearly must tell him regardless of whether he is with child or not, lest he find love with another.

“It is no secret that Loki holds an attraction to both sexes. If he allows another male to penetrate him, it is possible he will end with child, and that could easily result in an unwanted pregnancy, but my primary concern is that – should we tell him _now_ – he will struggle to process such news on top of their shared rape. He will not understand.”

“If we wait until confirmation of his pregnancy, he will understand even less.” Odin clenched at his fists. “He will assume we were forced to tell him, as well as that we had no intention to ever tell him, and he will have an unwanted pregnancy to endure as well as all else.”

“Is there no way to safely terminate before the child can develop?”

“There is no way to know for certain.”

Frigga winced, as she silently cursed the bad blood between Asgard and Jotunheim. The frown upon Odin’s face, as well as the pursed lips and reddened cheeks, spoke of an anger that matched hers in strength, but he kept his head low and avoided her gaze. He was never one to find bad news easy to deliver, at least to her, and she saw how desperate he was to find something positive and hopeful to say that would ease her worries.

“Loki is Jotun by birth.” Odin sighed and admitted: “We simply do not know what effect those kinds of medicines or procedures will permanently have upon his reproductive organs, but I can think of no way to ask Laufey without alerting him to Loki’s existence as his biological son. That revelation could cause many issues between us.”

“A Jotun pregnancy is six months in total, is it not?” Frigga rested her head on his shoulder. “Let us focus upon reconciling Thor and Loki for now, as well as getting to the heart of the issue, as such trauma will take great steps to begin recovery. This can be dealt with later.”

“Assuming that there is even a pregnancy at all?”

“Assuming that, yes,” admitted Frigga.

Frigga instinctively moved a hand to her stomach. Long fingers traced patterns in time to the vivid memories, until Odin reached out to entwine their fingers and hold tight, and – with slow and steady movements – he laid her down upon the bed. Frigga smiled as he lay beside her, head rested on his raised hand, and watched as he lightly played with the lace on her nightdress, able to master subtlety everywhere but the bedroom. As much as she equally desired a distraction from the hurt, she could not let certain words go unsaid, and whispered:

“I see them in pain, but there is nothing I can do to ease that pain.”

“You can offer them a mother’s love,” said Odin. “That is enough. I see the pain in your eyes, but all I feel is that same helplessness, unable to cease your suffering. I promise you that our sons will be fine with time, love and support. You are doing all that you can.”

“Then why does it not feel enough?” Frigga asked. “How can I help them?”

Odin looked away from her. There was a visible tear about his eye, as it shimmered and he fought back that same tear from falling, and – as he gripped harder about her laces – he leaned down with forearm pressed to the pillows, so that he could lay another kiss to her lips. There was a strange taste from both their ongoing tears, while his lips were chapped and rough, and yet when he pulled away to whisper reassurances . . . she believed him.

“I promise that things will get better,” swore Odin.

Frigga pulled him down for a full embrace.

“Let us pray they do,” she whispered.

 


	4. Chapter 4

Thor roared until his throat bled.

He stopped only to catch his breath; the dizziness faded with the desperate gasps for air, while the metallic liquid in his mouth was swallowed back, and – as he struggled to fight the lump in his throat – a cold sweat overcame him. The banquet hall was long since abandoned, as light streamed in through the open windows and balconies, and yet it did nothing to warm his skin. He clenched his fists. Nails cut red crescents into his palms.

The main banquet table was still set. Sif revealed that Odin forbade anyone from entry into either the halls or private chambers, as he strove to collect all evidence possible, but the half-eaten foods and empty mugs only taunted him. The memories of what could have been and what should have been, instead frozen in time as a reminder how time stopped, and every glance – every scent, every touch – proved to him that it was impossible to move forward. He saw how mould collected on some of the fruit, while meats rotted waiting to be disposed.

They would need to clear the hall. There was no evidence to collect.

Thor marched over to the table, before he set his hands on the edge. The table was cool to the touch, smooth and familiar to his senses, but it did nothing to ground him or still the way his heart raced loud within his chest. He struggled to breathe once more, as the air burned his lungs and blood reddened his teeth, and his knuckles turned white on the edge of the table as tears stung at his eyes, and – finally – something within him snapped. Thor screamed aloud and flipped the table. The clatters of plates and the smashing of glass echoed all around.

The table landed on its surface, legs pointed upright in the air, while a softened apple rolled across the tiles with a strange muted sound. It knocked against the leather of his boot, before it detoured away with slower movements, but it was stopped by the boot of another, where enough pressure was applied that it cracked and split underfoot. Thor watched as the juice poured forth, while the foot kicked its remains clean across the hall. Thor looked up.

Loki stood before him in different attire. The bulk of his outfit was mainly blue in colour, with his cape yellow on its underneath, and his hair – usually slicked back smooth – was curlier and more mussed than Thor could recall since childhood. Thor stepped back and clenched his fists until blood dripped upon the tiled floor, watching as Loki watched the dripping wound with half-narrowed eyes bloodshot and complete with black bags, but finally unclenched his fist when Loki paled. Thor spat out in a cold voice:

“I warn you, Brother. I am in a violent mood.”

“I have seen worse,” teased Loki.

The smile on his lips emphasised the soft lines upon his eyes, which refused to look anywhere close to Thor’s face, and Thor – as he stepped forward with a quirked eyebrow – winced to see Loki flinch away from him and step back. The smiled fled. Thor drew in a deep breath and raised a hand out towards his brother, but ultimately exhaled with a hiss of breath and wrung the air with a heavy gesture. He slumped his shoulders and shook his head.

Thor dragged his feet towards the steps to the balcony. He collapsed down and buried his head in his hands, as he struggled to breathe through the ache within his head, and Loki – with slow and steady steps – came to sit beside him with a graceful gesture. Loki said nothing, but just the sound of his quiet breaths and the creak of his leather outfit provided a small comfort, allowing Thor to slow his heart and cool the sweat upon his skin, and he lifted his head from his hands to look to Loki who trembled where he sat. Thor whispered:

“How is it you can find words to jest?”

“I either jest or weep,” admitted Loki.

“Aye, I know how that feels.” Thor scrunched closed his eyes. “Do you know what hurts me the most, Loki? You would be the one I would trust with this. It would be you I asked for advice and you I expressed my rage and you I begged for comfort, but you _stole_ that from me and that is what I cannot forgive! I wish to have my friend back . . . my brother.”

“As if I am not equally as betrayed?” Loki spat in a cold voice. “There was a time when you would beat a man for insulting me, but now you insult me with your very existence. You _raped_ me, Thor! How are we supposed to ever go back to before?”

“We have very different recollections of that night, Loki.”

“Oh, yes, supposedly _I_ was the one to rape _you_.”

Loki leaned forward and rested his head within his hand. Thor watched as long fingers massaged his forehead, while his eyes were so tightly scrunched closed that deep lines aged him beyond his years, and Thor was sure he saw a flush to those cheeks and tears pricked in the corners of those eyes. He bit his lip to refrain from a teasing comment, remembering how Loki took offence for days when Volstagg once asked if his silver tongue turned to lead, but without the jokes and rivalry there seemed to be nothing left to break the silence.

The sun streamed from behind them, warming Thor through his armour and cape, and he drew in a deep inhale of breath and slowly exhaled the way his mother once taught them. A pair of guards soon appeared within the hall, weapons raised and on high alert, but – as both men simultaneously raised their hands to dismiss them – they vanished to stand on guard just outside the main doors. Thor would never know which of them they obeyed. He whispered:

“Why did you do it, Loki?”

Loki bristled and fidgeted. Thor curled his lip and glared at him, until he stood and wandered over to the overturned tables with slow and lazy movements, and – as Thor watched him – he noticed how Loki seemed to walk an invisible line, eyes downcast with hands clasped behind his back tight enough that his knuckles turned white with pressure. Loki kicked at the stray remnants of food, occasionally sending them in Thor’s direction, where they would be kicked back in something similar to a game, until he finally turned with a shaking smile to ask:

“Why did I do what?”

“Why did you come to me in that form?” Thor asked. “Why _her_? It feels like you did not just violate me, but you violated her in the process, and all for what -? What did you hope to accomplish? Did you have feelings for me beyond the familial? Is that it? Why, Loki? _Why_? I want to know what you thought would happen! _I want an explanation_!”

“Let us get one thing straight. I did _not_ violate you!”

Loki spun around. Tears streamed down his face. He stabbed at the air with a gloved finger, as his other clenched fist remained firmly by his side, and his mouth was opened wide in a hideous display of emotion. Thor leaned back to see his brother hunch forward, before he stood slowly and raised his hands in a gesture of mock surrender, while his heart raced and a painful lump formed in his throat. He looked to the doors and bit at his lip, as he prayed that the guards would not interrupt their first chance to gain answers. Thor said in a cold voice:

“You appeared to me as Sif.”

“Aye, that I did,” spat Loki. “You are not ready to be king, Thor. You know as well as I do that no one – _no one_ – loves you more than I, but I seem to be the only one willing to acknowledge your flaws . . . you’re pig-headed, arrogant, thoughtless -! You would drag us from our era of peace back into an age of war. I thought of other means with which to discredit you, to show you as the child you are, but this seemed to be . . . safest.

“I waited until you were drunk and fatigued. I went into your rooms in only a robe, in the guise of the person I suspected would cause the most scandal. I pawed and flirted and teased, _knowing_ Volstagg would stop by to check upon you, and knowing you would be caught with ‘Sif’, at which point I would have departed the room and leave you to the drama.”

“What would that have achieved?” Thor blinked away tears. “What purpose?”

“Father dreams of a union between you and Sif.” Loki scoffed, as he wiped at his eyes. “He would have viewed such an indiscretion in a rather negative light, perhaps even pressing for a marriage to validate your union, and your inevitable arguments would have riled you into speaking out of turn and him seeing your impetuous childishness in all its glory.”

“You would have ruined my friendship with Sif over something so _petty_? Sif would have loathed me for my insistence that it was her, while the realm and our father would have believed her no longer grieving for Haldor and instead warming _my_ bed, and our reputations would be in shatters! Blast you to hell, Loki! You could have even have destroyed the friendship between Volstagg and Sif by forcing Volstagg into the role as witness!”

Loki winced and wrapped his arms around his chest. The yellow cape was made of thick leather, enough that it looked heavy and hot about him, and Thor – as he stepped toward him – saw a trickle of sweat on the temple of his brow. Thor winced as the rising sun shone off the back of various scattered golden platters, enough that he turned to face Loki less directly, and he ran callused fingers over his face and heaved in a deep breath. He refrained from insults, as Loki continued to kick at scraps of food, not even when Loki muttered:

“It would have delayed your coronation.”

“Is that all you care about?”

“I care about _our people_ ,” choked Loki. “I would have supported your eventual rule as king, but you were not ready! I – I know Father is overdue for the Odinsleep, just as I know it could well be his last, but I would rather take the risk of no ruler over a ruler that would damn us all to hell with a flick of his hammer! I was right, too. You’re nothing more than a rapist.”

“I am no such thing! You were the one who –”

“A – a – a – a rapist! A fool! A monster! A child! A _princess_ that -!”

Thor roared out in rage. A hand was about Loki’s neck. He encircled that pale throat and flung Loki onto the floor, where he knelt astride him and pinned him down with a firm hand. Loki laughed through his tears, clawing at his hand until his protestations stopped entirely, and his arms fell limp about his sides as he continued to laugh and cry in a monstrous sound that echoed about the hall and pierced Thor’s ears. He squeezed tight, as his heart raced and a cold sweat broke over his body, and – as he hyperventilated – his vision became blurred.

It was a rage unlike any other, but eased as the guards burst into the hall. Thor roared out once more, until his screams were silenced by broken gasps for air, and he threw himself off Loki and stumbled back a few steps, until he hunched over with hands on his knees. He retched and sobbed and choked, as his eyes – blurred and pained with sweat and tears – saw Loki roll onto his front and continue his almost hysterical sobs until they were silenced.

Loki slowly struggled to his feet, as he batted away all attempts to help him, and ordered the guards out of the hall and to take watch by the doors. They remained still. It was Thor’s turn to laugh, as the dark realisation dawned that they were afraid to leave the two men alone, and he realised – with a cold sense of shame and dread – that they were right. If they did not hurt each other, they would only hurt themselves. Thor thus nodded to the balcony and walked over to the cool touch of air outside, as Loki followed behind and signalled the guards to stay.

The guards remained, but they spread out in a fan formation and watched them. If they kept their words to a whisper, it would be possible to keep a conversation confidential, but there was something violating about having their every movement watched. Thor leaned against the balcony railing, while Loki came beside him and half-sat upon it with his back to the view beyond, so that they faced away from one another and looked upon two different views.

“I woke up to you on me,” whispered Thor.

“We started to struggle,” confessed Loki. “You were too disorientated and drunk to realise what you were doing, and I overestimated my abilities to fend you off and I underestimated your . . . passions. I – I – I thought you would stop once I awoke you. I thought my clawing at you would rouse you to your senses. You – You _carried on_ once you awoke, Thor!”

“I awoke to you upon me! You abused my trust. You molested my person.”

“You didn’t _just_ carry on, Thor. You grew . . . violent.”

Thor retched once more. He raised a hand to his mouth and scrunched closed his eyes, while the sun warmed his skin and rose ever higher, and below he heard the sounds of his people milling to and fro about the court, going about their business without a second thought. The sound of his heart raced in his ears, as tears stung at his eyes, and – as he struggled to breathe – he realised he couldn’t bring himself to look at Loki. He kept his head low.

He clasped his hands before him, as he clenched his jaw and bit his tongue. Loki breathed shallow and fast beside him, with hands fisted by his sides, and neither could deny the truth behind his words in those few seconds between them. The silence was broken only by the sounds of the guards’ clinking armour, while music played in the markets trickled over to be heard in the background of their discussion, and Thor knew it was only a matter of time before his father was sent to mediate their arguments. Thor asked in a quiet voice:

“Is that why you claim the rape my fault?”

“I do not claim to be blameless,” muttered Loki. “I was simply not the one to cross the line from ‘inappropriate’ into ‘rape’. We have fought in the past, Thor, but never – _never_ – have you continued past my limitations, _punishing_ me in ways that can never be undone! If – If it had just stopped at accidental penetration, maybe . . . maybe I could have slowly recovered, but you didn’t stop and what closure can I find from an outright abuse of my person?”

“I know what I did was unforgiveable, but do you not see how what you did was as unforgiveable, Loki?” Thor let out a shuddered breath. “I was at my most vulnerable. I was in my private chambers, affected by drink and sleep and at my most relaxed, and then I find myself half-lost in a dream of an attractive woman. I never suspected it to be real.”

“Well, that much was clear,” barked Loki.

“You took advantage of my state! You lied to me and hid yourself from me. I know that I tease you and bicker with you, but I never envisioned a life without you by my side. I always pictured us brothers forever. I could never be as proud of anyone as I was you. I saw so much potential in you, so much infinite good, and then to find you betrayed my trust in the worst possible way -? I was angrier than I can express. I was beyond incensed!”

“So your anger justifies my rape?” Loki laughed and shook his head. “I trusted you, too. I know you were always the favourite, but I always thought – at least between us – we could pretend to be equals. You never made me feel inferior, even if the world did, and yet when I asked you to stop . . . _begged_ you to stop . . . you only began in real earnest.”

“How do you want to proceed, Loki? I cannot trust you not to abuse my trust at my most vulnerable state, but you clearly cannot trust me not to abuse you once you reach your limits. If this is a stalemate, I know not how to proceed. I know not how to make it better.”

“Maybe there is no way to make it better. Maybe this is it, Thor.”

“I cannot believe that. You are my brother!”

Thor buried his face into his hands. He could almost feel the way Loki clenched so hot and firmly around him, so unlike any maiden he had taken in his past, and he could almost see the dreamlike face of Sif fade away into the cold reality of Loki. The confusion that made way into realisation . . . the pleasure that gave way to violation and betrayal . . . every time the memory was triggered, it brought with it a wave of nausea and resentment, and never were there enough baths to cleanse his skin of those touches and looks. Thor gasped out:

“I wish for things to go back as they were.”

“They can never go back to how they were, Thor.”

“I know,” admitted Thor. “I know.”

Footsteps echoed behind them.

Thor turned to see their father. Odin stood centre of the wrecked hall with an enviable grace, as he kept his back straight and head held high, and two aged hands rested on the hilt of his sword whose tip touched upon the tiled floor before him. He looked directly between them, so that his gaze fell on neither one nor the other, and Loki – as he looked up – paled considerably and chanced a glance to Thor who winced in reaction.

It brought Thor back to their childhood; Odin raised a hand to signal the guards to leave, and the three of them were left alone with nothing but the scent of rotting foods and upturned ales. The silence was heavy between them, so that every step Odin took thundered out and brought a small wince to Loki with every sound, and soon he stopped at the base of the steps and looked up between them with a hiss of breath. They said nothing. The bruises about Loki’s neck were aggravated by Thor’s latest blow, while the tears stained both sets of cheeks.

“It is time we talked,” said Odin. “Come.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Graphic Depiction of Rape

Loki knocked at the door.

Silence . . .

The only sounds were those of the party many rooms away, as music echoed faintly throughout the chambers of the palace, and he swore he could make out the faint tune of a song most cherished by his mother. There followed peals of laughter from a feminine voice, which brought a blush to his cheeks as he raised a hand to massage his temples, and – with a heavy sensation in his stomach – he half-suspected that his mother and father had stolen away to some adjacent corridor like a pair of teenagers in the midst of a courtship.

He kept quiet until the giggles disappeared behind the slam of a door, but he caught the sigh of guards stationed strategically about the private quarters, as if relieved not to see more of whatever sights to which they were subject. The occasional clink of armour and whispered gossip reminded Loki of his place, as he moved bare feet against the cold stone beneath. It was almost a curse to endure the bitter temperature, but it soon warmed to his flesh.

“Thor?” Loki chanced. “Are you awake?”

Loki adjusted the robe about his body. The dark green was a personal favourite, while the light silk perfectly moulded itself to the shape of his frame, and – like water on flesh – it was easy enough to ‘accidentally’ slide down the collar to expose a bare shoulder. He let loose his hair and concentrated on maintaining the magic that would allow him to claim the image of another, before he raised a now delicate hand to knock once more. The robe appeared to strain about his chest with the image of full breasts projected for any to witness.

“I am coming inside,” called the voice of ‘Sif’.

Loki gently opened the door, as he slipped inside Thor’s bedroom. The curtains about the lattices and balcony were open, allowing a beautiful sight of the stars beyond on a black sky, and – as moonlight shone through, casting intricate shadows upon the floor – Loki smiled and walked inside through past the living area and towards the bed. There were furs there from their first hunt together, while the frame itself was carved out of the bones and antlers of some beast or other that Loki long ago caught for Thor, and the memories were warm to him.

He almost missed the sight of Thor on the bed. It appeared fatigue overcame him, as he collapsed against the furs and blankets facedown and with limbs splayed out like a ragdoll, and a stray lock of blond hair moved unattractively against his mouth with every breath. He was dressed still in heavy armour, despite the sweat broken over his large muscles, and Loki hissed in frustration as he stormed over to the bed and slapped him across the head.

No response. Loki caught only a gurgle, as he looked to a clock on a far mantelpiece and calculated the time until Volstagg came by to check on them, and – with a curse cast under his breath – rolled Thor onto his back and began to undress him. There were bruises on his upper arms from where the armour dug into his skin, along with indents across his chest from the chainmail, but Loki overlooked them all in his struggle just to get Thor comfortable and in a safe position. It took far longer than expected to strip him of his attire.

“You are lucky I came,” chided Loki. “You would have choked to death in your sleep! I think next time I will paint words upon your forehead to make even Fandral blush, as it will be the very least you deserve for putting mead and ale before your safety and health.”

“Sif. Is that you?” Thor slurred. “I cannot –”

The rest of the words trailed off into an indecipherable mess of gibberish. Loki dug his fingers into his palm, as he clenched his hands into tight fists, and – drawing in a deep breath – slapped Thor about his chest in hopes of rousing him into some semblance of wakefulness. There was nothing but a half-felt ‘slap’ in return, as Thor’s hand waved through the air and missed Loki’s face by approximately a foot. It brought a smile to his lips, however, to see how Thor accidentally slapped himself on his face, as his open palm collapsed downward.

Loki shook his head and began work on Thor’s trousers. He tried to avert his gaze, even if it was a sight seen many times growing up . . . shared baths as children, sleepovers in one another’s rooms as teenagers, and accidental walk-ins during adulthood . . . still, it was not something he ever hoped to see so close and in such a personal manner. Loki swallowed hard and blinked rapidly, as he noticed how impressive it looked even when flaccid.

“I fear for the maidens you take,” muttered Loki.

He looked to Thor’s face, but saw only a faint trail of drool and heard only loud snores, and – with a deep blush – looked with a curious eye to see the golden curls and uncut length. Loki furrowed his brow and wondered whether oils were needed to ease its passage, or whether Thor fell to other means to sate his lust, but – as he looked back to the clock – Loki shook such thoughts from his head and pulled Thor into proper position on the bed.

Loki sat astride him and carefully swept back his robe. It provided a modicum of modesty should anyone view them from behind, as it hid the falsified buttocks of Sif and Thor’s lower half from sight, and Loki mentally checked that his spells upheld, as he momentarily worried that Heimdall might see within the chamber. Nothing. No one probed at his defences, no one could see behind his walls, and no one would disturb them save for the one friend who promised to check in on them. Loki slumped his shoulders in relief, as he asked:

“Thor, will you wake for me? Please?”

“Tired,” murmured Thor.

“Too tired for this?” Loki opened his robe. “Surely, you jest? I know how you feel about me, Thor. You long for me . . . _lust_ for me . . . here I am offering you to take what is yours. _I_ am yours. Will you not take what is owed to you, my lord . . . my king . . . _my love_?”

The robe fell open at the front. It remained in place only by the way it collected in the crooks of his arms, cast about like ripples of water about them, while exposing almost the entirety of his body to view, and – as Loki smirked down at Thor – he saw his brother slowly blink open his eyes to view what appeared to be a naked Sif astride him. It brought a widening of his eyes, before they slowly half-closed and he lazily moved his hands about Loki’s upper legs, but his length instantly hardened beneath Loki. He was clearly interested.

“That is more like it,” teased Loki.

Loki leaned forward to nip at Thor’s lips; the taste of honeyed meats lingered, while the stench of alcohol swept forward with every breath, and each almost chaste peck brought more and more interest from Thor, who sloppily tried to return the kisses and deepen them. Loki chuckled, as he kissed properly at Thor and pulled away only at a hint of tongue. Those rough and callused hands ran up and down his bare legs, always stopping just short of his groin.

It was almost sweet how he refused – even in his stupor – to go further without explicit consent, and so Loki took Thor’s hands and gently guided them to his waist, whereby they soon ran along his lower back and buttocks in exploration of his skin. Loki winced as his buttocks were groped and prodded, while he jumped in horror as a finger traced at his hole, and soon he was unable to continue his kisses and touches, but instead pulled Thor’s hands back to his waist and lightly smacked him on his chest with a firm gesture.

Thor appeared to take the warning. Loki leaned back down to kiss his lips, always careful to pull away whenever the kiss proved to go too deep, and yet soon those hands were sloppily groping and prodding on his stomach and chest. He yelped to feel a nipple tweaked and swallowed back a painful lump, as he wrenched away Thor’s hand and sat upright to avoid his hungry hands. The touch was too intimate and the illusion too weak.

“Uh-uh,” chastised Loki. “Not there.”

“Why not?” Thor murmured.

“It will ruin the illusion. You wouldn’t want that.”

Loki bit into his lip until he tasted a spark of iron. The sensation of an erect penis against his buttocks was an unfamiliar one, with the intense heat and moisture of pre-come far too real, but every movement to escape it only seemed to provoke it further. He saw how flustered Thor looked, so red in his cheeks and lips so swollen, and he looked to the clock once more, as his eyes watered and he let out a shuddered breath. Loki tried to slow his racing heart, but a pair of hands traced their way up his abdomen and toward his chest. Loki growled out:

“I said ‘no’, Thor. Do listen.”

The clock chimed from the mantelpiece. There was still no sign of Volstagg, as Loki jerked his head and heaved a long sigh, and his heart steadily beat faster and faster until he was forced to draw in long and slow breaths. Those rough fingertips pawed at his body once more, squeezing with the half-aware and clumsy touches of one still lost in a dream, and – yet again – they moved towards his chest. Loki’s stomach churned to realise his brother’s preference for the chest area, and stroke to keep his voice light and teasing to hide his fear and identity:

“Must you take control of all things, my prince?”

Loki slapped Thor across the face, making sure to leave a bruise. He watched as Thor’s head turned and those hands fell, only to see Thor stir and grumble and move his entire body, and soon that erection was moving between the cleft of his buttocks and leaving pre-come on his skin. Loki cursed and looked to the clock, only to see how Thor furrowed his brow while he tossed and turned, and – as Loki braced himself for balance, hand upon Thor’s chest – he realised those hands were back on his body. He struggled to remain calm.

The clock continued to tick. Loki shook his head and made to crawl off Thor, but the half-sleeping man grabbed at his wrist and yanked him back, knocking Loki off balance and pulling him prone against Thor. It disorientated him; the darkness made Thor’s low-pitched growls seem all the more ominous, while his rough touches explored his chest and buttocks with a sloppy sense of possession. Each time Loki pushed away, Thor pulled even closer.

Loki’s heart pounded within his ears; his eyes widened, as he struggled to pull away from those hands that forever pulled him back, and a sense of claustrophobia overcame him. He saw half-lidded eyes alternate between closed and open. The hands upon him prodded places not touched by another, causing Loki to cry out stuttered protestations, until he yanked away from Thor who clung to the sleeve of his robe. There was a loud rip through that sounded throughout the room, and – finally – Loki gasped for breath and put a gap between them.

“My – My Lord, stop! What will people think?”

“I’m yours,” mumbled Thor. “Yours.”

Loki scrunched closed his eyes. He carefully considered his options, as he looked to the clock and looked to the half-lucid expression of his brother, and – as his panic lessened – he drew in a deep breath and forced a playful smile, while he half-lidded his eyes and batted his eyelashes in Thor’s direction. Loki arched his back and leaned down into Thor’s personal space, allowing his hair to fall forward and curtain around them, as he licked at his lips and strove to maintain as seductive a hushed whisper as his fear would allow:

“If I am yours, this can wait. _I_ will wait.”

“You want this? I want this.”

“You cannot sate a woman like me,” teased Loki. “I have taken fingers with more substance. I fear you think too much of yourself. Why not prove yourself with foreplay and kisses and gentle whisperings? We will get caught else. Do not start what you cannot finish.”

The words broke something within Thor. Loki gasped as Thor let out a deep growl, as if taking the teasing comments as a personal challenge, and a hand came up to lock around Loki’s neck, forcing him in place as the fear rose again and Loki grew lightheaded. The nausea that rose in his stomach was intense, as he started slapping and striking Thor’s chest in earnest, desperate to fully awaken him, only to increase Thor’s anger and cause him to buck and thrust against Loki with hungry and aggressive movements.

“Thor, I mean it. _Stop_!”

A free hand came on Loki’s hip, gripping enough to cause serious pain. The thrusts came hard and fast between his buttocks. They nudged at his hole, and Loki – panting for breath, fighting to break the hold on his arm – blinked away tears and yelled at Thor in earnest. He barely let out a choked ‘Thor’ as the head of Thor’s penis pressed against his hole. The pain was intense as it forced its way inside. Loki rambled a pointless chant . . . _‘no, no, no, no, no’_. . . the words fell on deaf ears as the erection pressed inside him.

Loki screamed out in agony. There was sharpness within, like a ripping of skin or a blade through flesh, and the warmth about his lower body spoke of blood, a realisation that forced him to weep as fullness overcame him from below. He choked on saliva, as Thor thrust inside with low and constant grunts of pleasure. It was so primal . . . no regard to emotion, no real awareness . . . Loki tasted the tears on his lips, as his throat ached from his cries.

In desperation, he dug his nails into the top of Thor’s chest. He raked them down. The hand about his neck tightened with the sudden pain, no longer a sign of possession and instead an actual threat, and long red lines appeared on Thor’s skin as blood bubbled to the surface. It brought a hiss of breath from Thor, whose eyes finally fully opened. Dilated pupils struggled to adjust to the scene before him. Loki struggled to breathe, as he clamoured at the hand on his throat, while his other hand gripped Thor’s hip in agony. He gasped out:

“Stop! Stop, Thor! _Stop_!”

Thor finally awakened.

The look of heavy realisation in those eyes broke Loki. It was a betrayal and horror that was unlike anything Loki ever recalled upon his brother, but instead a look like when Sif lost Haldor or when Odin once was forced to concede war, and those eyes shimmered and shook as they looked at Loki as if for the very first time. A tear ran down Loki’s cheek, as he forced a shaky smile and loosened his grip momentarily, even while the pain in his backside threatened to cause him to blackout. He managed to whisper one word: ‘brother’.

“You bastard,” hissed Thor. “ _You bastard_!”

A cold realisation overcame Loki. He opened his mouth wide, as he gazed at Thor in absolute horror, and – as his stomach turned and bile raised in his throat – that hand tightened about his neck and choked him in earnest, until air was cut off and Thor thrust hard inside. It brought about an agonising pain unlike any other, as he clawed at the hand in desperate search of air, while he caught occasional glances of a tear-stained face and trembling lips.

Thor wept just as he wept. The thrusts were hard enough to knock the breath from Loki, even as he struggled with the obstruction about his throat, but every time he grew too faint – his face red then blue, his arms limp and hands barely clinging on – Thor would let go just enough for him to gasp and pant and then begin again to choke upon him. He listened to his pulse pound within his ears, while Thor groaned in a mixture of unwanted pleasure and broken sobs that were strangled by his desire to hide his emotions from Loki at all costs.

The pain increased, while Thor’s free hand grabbed at his legs and bruised his skin. Loki struck him as often as possible, desperate to free himself as he lashed out, but they were at a cruel stalemate. Loki was unable to break free, Thor unable to quell his rage. The blood on Thor’s chest smeared and ran down his sides, while Thor finally allowed his tears to spill without shame or fear. He was broken. Loki had broken him.

“Why, Loki?” Thor panted. “Why? Why did you do this?”

“P-Please. Stop. . . I beg you. Stop!”

Thor’s hand finally loosened about his neck, but remained in place as Thor slowed his thrusts just enough to allow Loki a semblance of control and rest. It may have been enough to convince Thor to abandon his rage, perhaps enough to fight back and break away, but it was at that moment the door opened and Loki clenched his inner walls as his entire body tensed in abject terror and mortification, while Thor bucked out of an instinctual desire to hide. The combination of movements set off a man already so close to the edge. Thor came.

It stung as it pressed itself against open internal cuts. Loki cried out in intense pain, as he pounded hard against Thor, and Thor – lost in bliss, his open-mouthed ecstasy forever etched into Loki’s unwanted memory – let go completely limp and lost to pleasure. The humiliation and agony was more than Loki could bear, as he flung himself from Thor and stumbled across the room to safety. He limped due to the pain. Volstagg gasped from the doorway:

“What is this?”

Loki had no answer. He simply wept.

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

Odin stood proud.

He occupied the space centre of the private lounge. The sun streamed behind him from the large archway; it forced those who gazed at him to squint and strain, while his eye was free to roam the room with perfect vision and no obstruction. He saw the long shadows cast about the tiled floor, with his most prominent and overlapping all others, and he saw how his sons chose to stand opposite one another by the sofas either side of Odin.

A roaring fire occupied the space in between, blocking their vision of each other and yet allowing them perfect sight of their father, and – as Odin looked to them, standing before his gilded chair on the heightened dais – he noticed the changes only a parent would notice. He saw how Loki forewent his usual style, instead donning himself in yellows and blues with hair no longer slicked back, while Thor chose to wear full and formal armour, with hair pulled back into a messy bun out of his face. They both looked downward.

Odin drew in a deep breath and sat upon his chair. He winced as his joints creaked and the muscles in his legs ached with sharp needle-like pain, and – as pressure was removed from his back and hips – he allowed a momentary expression of relief. The pain was now almost pleasurable, as the tension fled and relaxation returned, and the deep lines on his face smoothed as his eyes closed and body sank back into the cushions. Age was not kind.

“You both may sit,” said Odin.

Thor threw himself down with little grace, as he buried his head within his hands. He kept his legs spread and elbows on knees, while his callused fingers massaged his temples, and Odin winced to see specks of tears badly veiled in those eyes. Odin looked away. Thor loathed being seen as ‘vulnerable’ above all else, taking any comment – no matter how innocuous – about such weaknesses as an insult. It would not do to rile him further, while an averted gaze was a concession that required no effort. Odin breathed deep.

Loki chose to stand, but kept his arms wrapped about his chest. The way in which he narrowed his eyes aged him beyond his years, while his lips pressed into a white line, and his skin – so pallid and sunken – obtained shadows as the light from the fire fell upon him. Odin heaved a deep hiss of breath, unused to being disobeyed by his youngest child, and he bristled as his hand slapped lightly at the arm of his chair. Odin asked in a cool voice:

“Is there something the matter?”

“I prefer to stand,” confessed Loki. “I will not sit for long periods.”

Darkness fell upon Odin. He saw how Loki would not meet his eye, but also how the tension to his body reeked of a pain more physical than emotional, and Odin simply stood to signal to a servant and ordered for cushions to be brought forth. The servant made quick work of the task, bringing so many cushions and pillows that they struggled to balance them all in small arms, but the sight alone brought an unconscious smile to Loki’s lips, which in turn brought a smile to Odin. Once the cushions were placed on the sofa, he waved a hand once more.

“I wish to be left alone with my sons,” commanded Odin.

The few servants about the room soon vanished. Odin paused to give them time to exit, while Loki piled up the cushions to the side of the sofa, and – once were all finally gone – he watched as Loki sat down with a wince of pain, before he leaned against the wall of cushions and half-lounged on the sofa. Odin sat once more, as he waved another hand and cast the flames of the fire out of sight. The barrier between the brothers was gone.

“Now,” said Odin. “Who shall begin?”

Silence. The bruises on Loki’s neck were a violent shade of red, which jarred with the old bruises that were slowly turning blue with the healing process, and the tearstains upon Thor’s cheeks were still moist and clear to witness. The hair of both was mussed, while clothing was askew and faces were sour, and neither looked anywhere but at the ground beneath their feet, as if the cold tiles held some familiar answers. Odin gripped tight the arm of his chair until knuckles turned white, before a low growl escaped his lips. Thor flinched and barked:

“There is nothing to be said.”

“Thor is correct, Father,” added Loki in a quiet voice. “Thor was distraught. I made the mistake of tending to him, in hopes of finding some closure in answers, but I provoked him and he retaliated. It was nothing but an argument between siblings; I am sure you remember worse during our childhood’s, such as when _someone_ dislocated my arm during training.”

“Aye, which I would do again!” Thor cracked a smile. “I remember _someone else_ starting that fight, just as he started this one! Who was it that cut my hair as we slept? I went from hair as long as Father’s to hair as short as Fandral’s in but one night!”

“Well, you _did_ call my ability to create illusions a mere ‘trick’.”

“That was a compliment! You were the trickster, after all.”

Odin smiled and shook his head. The two finally looked to one another, each with half-smiles that failed to quite reach their eyes, and the focus they held upon one another spoke of a sibling rivalry that reminded Odin too much of Fárbauti. The silence was almost comfortable, as they maintained a long look, but soon something broken within them. Loki looked away with a curl of his lip, while Thor jerked his head back with wide eyes at such a reaction, before he clenched his fists and stared hard at the floor. Odin looked to Thor and said:

“You laid hands upon your brother, Thor.”

Thor winced, as he fell back against the sofa and ran a hand across his face. He looked up at the ceiling as his eyes watered and lips trembled, before he slammed a fist hard into the cushions beneath him, and – with a creak of wood – he threw himself forward and glared toward Odin, as his eyes narrowed and his face flushed with emotion. Odin looked closer to see how bloodshot his eyes looked, as his stomach dropped to realise Thor endured a sleepless night.

“He _raped_ me,” spat Thor. “I have a right to be incensed!”

“Indeed, but further violence is not the answer.”

“What about Loki?” Thor waved a hand in Loki’s direction. “He has yet to even see a healer! Do you not care? He sits there in pain, refusing to seek help! I know what I did was wrong, _I know_ , but he is the one who came to me in my sleep and molested my person! Why am I the only one to blame? _Now_ you choose to play favourites? _Now_ Loki is the victim?”

“I have never once played favourites among my sons.”

Loki scoffed. Odin snapped his head in his direction, snarling at him as anger overwhelmed him, as his heart raced and blood ran cold, and – between Loki’s contempt of self and others, alongside Thor’s stubbornness and rage – he knew not how to find compromise. He thought to Frigga . . . _‘Thor won’t be alone. Loki will be at his side to give him counsel. Have faith in your sons’ . . ._ those words were wise, but hard to follow. The coronation would have to be delayed, while the exhaustion was so bone-deep his eyes stung and head stabbed in pain.

The snarl silenced Loki, but it forced him to flinch away and look back with wide eyes, as if he looked at Odin for the first time in his life. Odin bit the inside of his lip to keep quiet, while he drew in deep and long breaths, and – as he clenched his fists – he saw how Loki tensed and trembled, before letting out a slow exhale. He scrunched closed his eyes and swallowed back his shame, before nodding to both in a slow and deliberate manner.

“Loki will see the healers,” promised Odin.

“I will not,” grunted Loki.

“Loki, I cannot imagine the shame you endure.” Odin angled his body towards him. “I am aware of what aspersions are cast upon those considered to be _argr_ , but I guarantee I shall have flogged any man or woman that speaks badly upon you. Word shall not spread of what you have endured. No one need know what happened, consensual or non-consensual.”

“So – So this is less about protecting me and more about protecting _Thor_?”

“Do not twist my words! It is the best course of action for both of you; should Thor be seen as a rapist, it will diminish his authority and respectability with our people, and should you be seen to have consented, it will cast a dark reputation upon you. If the act has never officially occurred, neither one of you shall endure the consequences of the other’s actions. You both play a part within this crime. Do not let that be forgotten, my son.

“You shall seek the advice of the healers, Loki, or else you shall be examined and tended to by your mother.” Odin raised a hand to silence him. “This is not a matter of discussion. Thor is right; you suffer and you suffer needlessly, but I will not bear witness to your pain with the helplessness and passivity you ask of me. You will receive treatment for your wounds.”

“You act as if mere words will make everything better,” spat Thor.

“We are only at the start of his ‘negotiations’,” muttered Loki.

Odin let out a hiss of breath. He caught the look sent between them, both with a subtle smirk on their lips as they united against a common enemy, and he realised that his pulse pounded loud within his ears, as he strove to control his breathing and gestures. The pain in his joints was one he once mocked his elders for in his youth, a grinding sensation that cut to his core, but worst was the insult of being mocked by those too young to remember the wars.

The shared looks and barely stifled giggles almost brought a smile to his face, but he knew – as his hands trembled and his muscles tensed – it was only a matter of time before they remembered their arguments and a fight broke out between them. He looked to Loki and noted how he formed the spare cushions onto a wall by his other side, so that it created one more unnecessary barrier between them, and he noted too how Thor occasionally nudged _Mjölnir_ with his foot, as if seeking for the reassurance only the hammer could provide.

Odin fell back in his chair, as he raised a shaking hand to his mouth. He rubbed at his lips and cursed their dryness, while he swallowed hard to find an equally dry mouth, and – as his stomach churned and a momentary dizziness overcame him – he struggled to focus his eyes and scrunched closed his eyes . . . _‘stress will only bring forth the sleep faster, my love’ . . ._ he looked to his sons and saw already their expressions had hardened. He asked in a quiet voice:

“What would help reconcile your perceived injustices?”

Loki bristled at once. He leaned forward, but winced at the sudden movement and fell back, and Thor – already on his feet – moved to go to his brother’s side, only for Loki to blanch and look to him with wide eyes. Thor flinched and looked between Odin and Loki as if in search of some answer, as if either could give him any means to fix the problems between them, and yet Loki remained silent as he panted through his pain and cast a dark gaze to Odin, locking eyes with him and curling his lip as he spat out in sheer rage:

“My injustice is _not_ just ‘perceived’.”

“I imagine Thor would beg to differ,” chided Odin. “I would advise you both to focus less upon your slights and more upon how you slighted the other, as recompense is the only way in which you will both move forward. As it stands, I have delayed the coronation for another week in hopes that we may put things right before the sleep overcomes me.”

“That isn’t fair!” Thor roared. “What happened between Loki and I shall never happen again, but why should I be punished for Loki’s violation of my person? I was wrong to continue as I continued, but you do not know how deep that betrayal cut me! If I were king, I would –”

“But you are _not_ king!” Odin yelled. “Not yet.”

 _Mjölnir_ jumped into Thor’s hand. Odin noticed how Thor’s knuckles whitened with the pressure of his grip, while his teeth ground and veins bulged from his neck, and Odin remembered well how nervous Thor was to become king, as well as the sheer pride that forbade him to express his fears aloud. He wondered what hurt most: the fear their people would be left undefended or the insult of being considered unworthy of rule. Odin stood in turn and ignored the deep ache to his muscles. Spit rained from Thor’s mouth as he roared:

“Our realm needs a ruler! You would put our people at risk?”

“Nay, I will do all that I can to protect our people.” Odin drew in a deep breath. “What about you, Thor? You who cannot even protect his brother, but would claim to protect an entire people whose existence depends upon one ruler to lead them to safety? Have you forgotten everything I have taught you? You act upon emotion with the entitlement of a child! What of a warrior’s patience and cunning? What of compromise and a man’s diplomacy?”

“What good do your words do? What good does this ‘compromise’ achieve?” Thor marched over to the dais with hammer in hand. “Let Loki and I argue . . . fight . . . whatever means necessary to overcome our wrath! _We_ are the ones harmed, _not_ you! Your methods are flawed. You would stand giving us speeches while our family falls apart! I will not lose Loki.”

“You are acting like a vain, greedy, cruel boy!”

“And you are an old man and a fool!”

Silence echoed. The only sounds were that of Thor’s heavy panting breath, along with the rustle of Loki’s leather outfit as he stood with slow and deliberate movements, and Odin – the pain in his head sharp, his heart pounding until palpitations stuck – struggled to maintain a facade of calmness. Odin looked to Thor and saw a face pure red, as canine teeth were bared and shoulders shook with the force of emotion. He saw his doubts manifested. The words of his advisors, the vagueness of his queen, and the questions of Loki all repeated in his mind.

“Aye, I was a fool,” admitted Odin.

Thor hunched forward with arms spread wide, almost as if both expecting a fight and offering a surrender, and – as realisation dawned – Odin realised both were almost synonymous within Thor’s mind, where battle was a cathartic release and a means for closure, and he saw in him the pure rage that led him to act first and think second. Odin let his hands fall to his sides, as his mind swam and a sharp pain scraped down his spine. The lump in his throat was painful, the tears in his eyes stung, and his head shook almost imperceptibly.

The depths of disappointment flooded his senses. A deep frown broke across his features, as lines deepened on his brow, and he looked to Thor and longed to see the boy he once knew, but instead saw only a man so adamant on fighting his way through his troubles. Odin fought back the cold sweat, as the silence in the room lingered and strengthened, and he looked away from Thor only to see Loki slowly approach with cautious steps. Odin whispered:

“I was a fool to think you were ready to rule.”

Loki stopped a few inches from Thor’s side, with hands raised in mock surrender. The lack of colour about his face was more obvious when compared to Thor’s flushed cheeks, while his slightly hunched state looked exaggerated when compared to Thor’s perfect posture, and Odin – as he narrowed his eyes and intently observed the situation – saw how different the two men had grown to become. He breathed deeply and slowly, as he tensed his body.

He listened to the sounds of the fire as it crackled on low embers, while the rising sun shortened their shadows and brought further warmth to the room, and every breath – every move, every gesture – brought strangely loud echoes to his ears. Odin was hyper-alert. A crackle of energy coursed through him, as his blood ran cold and his heart ran fast. He risked hyperventilation, while the coldness chilled him to his core, and he clenched his fist until the veins bulged through thin skin. Odin stepped down the steps of the dais before Thor.

“Thor Odinson,” said Odin in a cold voice. “Through your arrogance and stupidity, you have exacerbated your brother’s misdemeanours and caused an irrevocable rift between our family, destroying bonds of trust that have taken a lifetime to build. You have disrespected your king. You have disrespected your father. You have cast shame upon our family line.”

“Father,” begged Loki. “Allow me to –”

“ _Silence_ ,” bellowed Odin.

Loki jumped back a step and raised his hands once more. The fear was evident upon his expression, with wide eyes and open mouth, and yet Odin finally allowed his rage to consume him, as he rounded on Thor and leaned into his personal space. Thor stumbled backward, losing his balance and blinking rapidly, but Odin – as he grew light-headed with the speed of his breaths – reached out and snatched the hem of Thor’s cloak. He wrenched it away with great strength, until the fabric ripped and tore. The cloak fluttered to the ground.   

“You are unworthy of this realm,” whispered Odin. “You are unworthy of your title. You are unworthy of the loved ones you have betrayed. _You are unworthy_.” Odin swallowed back the unshed tears. “I hereby take your powers from you, until the day you can prove your worth and find forgiveness from those you have harmed. In the name of my father –”

“Father, _please_.” Loki begged. “I implore you –”

“– and the name of his father before him –”

“The mistake was mine alone!”

“– I revoke your power!”

Odin snatched the discs upon Thor’s armoured chest. They clattered to the floor, along with the chainmail in turn, until armour broke apart and fell to the tiles below, and – as Loki gasped and paced – Odin looked to his son clad only in his undershirt. Thor stood with wide eyes and paled skin, as he stumbled back further and his hands came up as if to witness his newfound weakness and depleted strength, but it would not be enough to teach him a lesson.

Odin raised his hand high. _Mjölnir_ fled from Thor’s hand with a jerk of his upper body, pulling him forward for a brief second, only to return to Odin who clasped the handle with a familiarity that brought back memories of his youth. The handle was firm and warm, as if it retained the touch of Thor, and the weight was heavy enough to remind him of the strain on his body and ever-nearing need for sleep, as he raised the hammer to his lips and closed his eyes to take in the scent of metal and leather. He opened his eyes to look at his son.

Tears streamed down Thor’s face; anger clashed with sorrow, pride fought with shame, and his face contorted into something unrecognisable, as he doubled over and clutched at his chest with a muscled forearm, deprived of armour and the inhuman strength passed down their line from father to father. Odin drew in a deep breath and straightened his back, as he kept his gaze locked firmly at his son, and whispered the necessary incantation:

“Whosoever holds this hammer, if he be worthy, shall possess the power of Thor.”

Odin threw the hammer into the fire. The flames raged high around the metal, glowing just as the runes around the weapon itself glowed, and the hammer now took centre place within the private living chambers of the royal family. Loki walked around the fire, as his eyes fixated on the handle and his hand twitched by his side, and soon he stumbled against Thor and stopped to spin around and gaze at his brother. Thor said nothing. He panted for breath and slumped his shoulders, as tears dripped down onto the tiles and his lips parted.

“There is but one reason and one reason alone, why I have not exiled you,” warned Odin. “I have allowed you to retain your place in these halls, with this family, solely for the sake of Loki and Loki alone. He needs you more than either of you realise. No blood of mine shall be forsaken simply for the sins of another, but even this ruling I am willing to reconsider.”

“How am I to gain Loki’s forgiveness when I cannot forgive myself?” Thor wept. “How can I prove my worth without my powers to give me strength or skill? You have damned me to a life as – as – as nothing more than any other Asgardian! You have made me nothing.”

“Nothing shall come from nothing,” warned Odin. “Let us pray you are something.”

“Something beyond my powers? Beyond my sins?”

Odin turned his back on Thor. He closed his eyes knowing his son would not see him, as he allowed a tear to fall down his cheek and onto his armour, and – opening his eyes to look out to the realm beyond – he saw the tall buildings and many mountains that painted the landscape to their people. Thor panted and gasped behind him, while Loki returned to pacing with head bowed low, and he listened to the sounds as he struggled to keep his voice low and steady when he next spoke. He would not allow emotion to mar his words.

“Aye,” said Odin. “I have faith in you, my son.”

He turned once more and marched past both men to the main doors, whereby he banged once on them and waited for them to open before him, and the cold air of the hallways struck him hard and forced him to refocus. Odin sighed and closed his eyes once more, as dizziness struck and he swayed slightly on his feet, but – with great self-control – he steadied himself and smiled despite the tears that threatened to spill. He whispered one last goodbye:

“Prove your worth, my son.”

 


	7. Chapter 7

“Anyone want to polish my sword?”

Fandral reclined on the _chaise longue_ with sword raised. He kept the hilt between his legs and held in two hands, while the dull blade pointed directly upward, and – as the servants around giggled and nudged one another – Sif rolled her eyes and stormed toward him. The sound of her boots echoed about the antechamber, as she snatched the sword from him and sheathed it within the hilt that leaned by against the cushions. Fandral pouted.

It was an attractive expression, especially so when he pursed his lips and raised his eyebrows, and Sif – with a blush – scoffed and turned her back on him. Hogun chuckled from a sofa across the room, where he sat with feet planted on the floor and hands clasped between his legs, but his face remained grim and his lips only quirked enough to betray his humour. Sif glared at him, before she made her way to the fires centre of the room, where the healing stones warmed and collected energy, and watched as the flames danced and leaped.

Volstagg heaved a sigh from a bench cast off against the far wall, where he waved a hand to dismiss the servants, and soon the scurry of footsteps distracted from the crackles and snaps from the fireplace, until they faded out of earshot and the hallway doors closed behind them. A sigh escaped Volstagg’s lips, as he returned to tending to the wound on his leg, and – with a wince of pain – he gritted his teeth and hissed through parted lips.

“I do hope this heals soon,” complained Volstagg. “I’m famished.”

“Really?” Fandral teased. “Now _there’s_ a surprise.”

“Are you attached to that pretty face of yours? One more word and you won’t be.” Volstagg glared down at the wound on his leg. “I must say that this would have gone _far_ easier with Thor by our side. Tell me, is he still hiding away in his rooms? I would have thought him ready to get out and fight by now! How else will he prove his worth?”

Sif took a seat beside Volstagg. The wound was almost healed, with nothing but an intense burn around the edges, and the healers busied themselves in the main chambers beyond, where loud arguments could occasionally be heard with Loki. Sif frowned as Loki’s voice boomed out beyond the infirmary doors, but kept a stoic expression even as Fandral sighed and Hogun scoffed. The antechamber ran warm, as the fire roared and the low lights added a soft glow to the walls and tiled floor, and Sif gnawed at the inside of her lip as she processed his question.

“It has only been a week,” observed Sif.

Hogun clicked his tongue and stood tall. He marched to the fires and stoked them, as his narrowed eyes observed the flames with a ruddy complexion marred with grime and blood, and an uncommon silence filled the space between them. The cries and shouts beyond the doors died down, leaving only the familiar crackles of the fire and heavy breaths of her friends. Hogun looked to her and said in a firm and slow voice:

“We also have greater concerns.”

“We do?” Fandral asked. “What is more important than the welfare of our friend?”

“The coronation has been delayed,” said Sif. “The Allfather also seeks to venture to Jotunheim to speak with Laufey. There are rumours that the truce between our two realms is about to be broken, while our king will soon sleep and we have no one to take his place. We _need_ for Thor to break out of his depression, so he can _prove_ himself ready to be king.”

“Except Loki was right,” murmured Volstagg. “Thor _isn’t_ ready to be king. He is a good man and with infinite potential, but what he did to Loki was as unforgiveable as what Loki did to him, and – well – I believe Loki is right . . . he _can_ be a little hot-headed.”

“What he did to Loki was justified,” argued Sif.

Volstagg opened his eyes wide. He looked to Sif with a partially open mouth, as he struggled to angle his body more in her direction, and – as his dark eyes looked to her – she looked away with a small wince, while a blush flooded her cheeks as Fandral scoffed. Hogun grunted, as he moved to the _chaise longue_ and sat at the far end. The sudden dip of the cushions jerked Fandral, who cried out in mild pain, but he soon fell back against the many pillows and slowed his breaths, even as he glared at Hogun. Fandral asked:

“Do you _really_ believe that?”

“I believe I would have reacted the same way,” admitted Sif. “Thor may not be as promiscuous as you or as chaste as me, but he does cherish and value the act of intimacy. It was rape what Loki did. How can we question that? If you woke to someone in the guise of another, touching you and molesting you, would you not be equally as angered?”

“We never act as we imagine we would,” muttered Hogun.

“How wonderfully cryptic,” replied Fandral.

“Hogun is right.” Volstagg sighed and added: “It is very easy for us to sit and imagine how we _would_ react in such a circumstance, but can we really know what we would do when the adrenaline courses and the anger surges? We cannot deny that much.”

Sif clenched her hands against the leather of her skirt. The room fell quiet once more, as each person was lost to their thoughts, and – as she glanced to the bearded face of Fandral – her stomach churned and ached to even imagine another coming to her under his guise, as well as the shame that would follow and the overwhelming guilt. Sif closed her eyes with a blush to her cheeks; it was not Thor’s fault what happened, but he would have blamed himself, and that self-hatred would have possibly driven him to dark depths. Sif reopened her eyes.

“Loki must go to the Allfather.” Sif clenched her hands. “He can convince him to change his mind! I know that Loki has always been jealous of Thor, but surely even he must see that it is better for Thor to rule than to be deprived of a ruler in its entirety?”

“Except Loki has every right to be as angry as Thor,” said Hogun.

“And I think he _did_ speak to the Allfather,” added Fandral.

The infirmary doors opened behind them.

Sif jumped to her feet, along with Hogun. The room fell silent as Loki appeared in the doorway, clad once more in his typical green-and-black attire, but his hair hung in loose curls and looked untamed and unkempt. He looked around the room with dark eyes marred by black bags, as if sleep still eluded him, and the anger in his expression – eyes narrowed, cheeks flushed – was reminiscent of Thor to almost the last detail.

The holographic screens behind Loki was incomprehensible; entire sections were blacked out, evidently the cause to Loki’s clenched jaw and hunched shoulders, and Sif furrowed her brow as the healers quickly shut off the screens on sight of her, before closing the doors. Fandral quirked his head backwards, as he clutched his chest with a wince, and strove to see Loki behind him, while Volstagg chirped a sincere ‘welcome’ and patted the sofa beside him. Loki ignored them all to hiss a loud exhale of breath, as he finally spat out:

“They say the Warriors Three can meet any challenge?”

“We can accomplish anything,” boasted Fandral. “Name it, Loki.”

“Keep your mouths shut.”

Loki marched past them; his cape billowed out behind him, while his soft footsteps were barely heard, but as he entered the hall – flinging open the hallway doors with a violent gesture – they slammed loud enough on the plaster that the noise hurt her ears. Sif winced. Plaster fell from the walls and onto the floor, while the doors bounced back with the force of the throw and settled into a half-closed position, and she noticed the cracks upon the walls. Volstagg sank onto his bench with a long groan, as he ran his hand over his face and muttered:

“Well, that could have gone better.”

Sif sat down with a sigh. The bench was firm and uncomfortable beneath her, while Volstagg nudged her with his uninjured foot, and she watched as Hogun sat on the sofa across the room, where Fandral rolled his eyes and mumbled a few incoherent complaints. The room fell cold as an intense draught blew through the open doors, and Sif barely noticed as the seconds passed into minutes and a set of footsteps echoed throughout the hallway.

Thor appeared and closed the hallway doors behind him, as four sets of eyes looked in his direction and watched as he made his way over to a sofa before the roaring fires, and – as he sat – he stared down at his hands with an impassive expression. He maintained his physique well, but his clothes were casual and common. The plain leather cape hid his red shirt and basic armour, while his loose hair also hid his face from clear sight, and he breathed deep before he sat upright and threw himself back on the sofa. Thor said in a quiet voice:

“Loki asks that you cease to gossip about him.”

“Oh, is that all?” Volstagg asked.

“His words, my friends, not mine.” Thor ran a hand over his face. “I have tried to talk to him on many occasions, but it seems he avoids me at all costs. I only ever see him when we pass within the corridors or during meetings with our father, and – even then – I am sure he has arranged secret meetings to try and win our father’s favour and smear my name.”

“Loki suffered immensely,” said Volstagg. “I am sure he simply seeks the affection of the father he admires, and – as for avoiding you – these things take time to reconcile. Loki never sought the throne, so I see no reason why he would seek to ruin your reputation.”

“We never thought Loki capable of rape, either,” added Hogun.

“In any case,” continued Thor, “my issue is our reconciliation. I do not know how I can apologise to him should he continue to avoid me, but there is no other way to seek his forgiveness and no other way to regain the brother I have lost. I hate myself for that admission, as he still will not admit to his part in things, but one of us must make that first step! Am – Am I to spend my life regretting my part with no means to make amends?”

Thor wrung his hands before him. The veins on his hands bulged, while his cape and hair continued to hide him from sight, and yet Sif detected the flush to his cheeks and his lips pursed into a white line. He may have avoided battle and training, but it was no secret that he practised in private throughout the nights, and the exhaustion showed on his skin and eyes, as she struggled to focus and his complexion paled. Thor needed rest. He said nothing, as he continued to sit alone and clench his fists until blood was drawn. Thor spat:

“I have no means to prove my worth.”

“There are many means to prove your worth, Thor,” said Sif.

Thor finally looked at her, but his lips were pursed and nostrils flared. It was an intense gaze, especially as his eyes briefly fell down to her chest and then lower still, and – as her cheeks flushed and back straightened – she glanced to Fandral and saw him tense in turn. The air grew tense between them; it was no secret that her relationship to Thor was a sisterly one, but the way he observed her spoke of shame and guilt and disgust.

Loki must have taken her form. Her stomach churned and a wave of nausea overcame her, as she looked down with lips curled and eyes narrowed, but nothing more was said between any of them as the open – yet unspoken – secret lingered. Hogun grunted while the fires roared. A healer quickly dashed inside to check their various wounds, before they apologised and departed into the hallway, and soon every clink of armour – every heavy breath, every creak of leather – echoed loud enough to draw all heads in its direction. No one dared speak first.

“I lack my powers,” admitted Thor.

“Well, you can regain those, old chap!” Fandral clapped his hands and smiled. “The Allfather is not so cruel as to put your power beyond your reach, and all we need do is uncover what is meant by ‘worth’. Perhaps, if you can best a superior in battle or –?”

“In this mortal form?” Thor shook his head. “I am too weak to best those who would pose most threat to our realm, but nor do I know who I am without my powers. I have nothing to give! I have nothing to offer! I have tried time and time again to take my hammer, but each time my arms strain and my throat cries and all that happens . . . silence. Fandral has his charms, Loki has his intellect, but what of me? I may as well be exiled.”

“A man’s worth is not in what he _does_ ,” chirped Volstagg. “It’s in what he can _offer_. You won’t achieve anything by moping around, my friend! You have more courage than any other, more passion and more determination, more dedication -! If you cannot see the worth in yourself, trust that _we_ can see what you do not. You will soon be restored to your glory.”

“Do you have a plan to proceed?” Hogun asked.

“I have thought about going to each of the Nine Realms,” admitted Thor. “I may seek to learn their various fighting techniques and diplomatic tactics, perhaps bettering myself as both a warrior and a king, but I know not how some of those realms would respond. I also fear that any attempts to better myself have come too late. The damage has been done.”

The fire continued to crackle and spark. Sif stood and walked towards the doors to the infirmary, where a slight parting of the door revealed many healers gathered together with records in hand, and yet – no matter how she strove to see details – every screen and page and whisper was deprived of vital information. The door closed once more, as she looked to Thor and stared at the armour on his chest. The cuts that raked his skin were likely healed, but perhaps the scars lingered as an immortal memory of the events that transpired.

Thor frowned and stood in turn, as he waved a hand lazily in her direction. He hunched his shoulders and looked impassively about the room, while his eyes sat heavy and half-lidded on an exhausted face, and his fatigue aged him beyond his youth. There was blood matted to the hair about his temples, which Sif failed to notice before, and clearly he still lost himself in the heat of sparring bouts, even if his strength could not quite compete.

“Apologies,” said Thor. “I must take my leave.”

“Surely, you don’t mean to leave now?” Fandral asked.

“I do not intend to leave Asgard yet, but it could be the only way to prove my worth.” Thor bowed his head towards them. “I have preparations that must be taken, while the journey is one that I must make my own, but – until then – I need time alone to consider whether this is the best course of action. I will do what it takes to prove myself.”

Volstagg made to sit upright, but gasped and fell back on the bench. He grabbed his leg just above the wound, applying pressure as he grimaced and scrunched closed his eyes, and angled his head to Thor’s direction, only for Thor to avoid his gaze. Hogun grunted and stood, while Sif scurried to his side and sagged in relief for the emotional support of a mutual friend, even as Fandral muttered and gesticulated wildly behind them. Thor bit into his lip and turned away, even as Volstagg asked in a shaky and uncontrolled voice:

“Are you _sure_ that leaving is what is right, Thor?”

“I am sure, but thank you, friends,” said Thor.

Sif stepped forward. Hogun grabbed her upper arm and shook his head, forcing her to stay still even as her muscles tensed and her heart raced against her breast, and – as she looked to Thor – she saw a man lost to emotion and purpose. Thor nodded to them once again, as he turned and took his leave into the main halls beyond. A cold draught blew threw the antechamber, as the fires flickered and flamed, and then he was out of sight.

The doors closed upon him.

 


	8. Chapter 8

_'How could you have done this?’_

_Frigga blinked away the tears in her eyes. Odin stood on the balcony with hands clasped behind his back, head held high as he gazed out over the realm beyond, and – despite his straight back and relaxed muscles – she detected a small tremor to his fingers. Seconds passed. Odin jerked his head, noticing her for the first time, and looked over his shoulder to gaze on her with a soft smile that deepened the lines at his mouth._

_‘Do you not understand what he has set into motion?’ Odin asked. ‘The healers suspect that Loki is pregnant. I have withheld that information from them, but it is news that could break our family or even bring us to the brink of war. Thor also disrespected his king.’_

_‘But this? You could lose him forever. He’s our son!’_

_‘What would you have done?’_

_The tone in his voice was cold. Frigga bristled and let out a hiss of breath, as she held her tongue and reminded herself of his deep exhaustion, and – with slow and steady steps – she came to stand beside him and took his hand within hers. It was cold to the touch. The callused and wrinkled skin spoke of great age, but also of millennia of trust and heartbreak and adoration, and she smiled as he squeezed back with a kiss to her forehead. It was a lingering gesture. Frigga swallowed hard and reluctantly whispered:_

_‘I would not have stripped away his powers. He suffers alone, my love. Loki will not entertain him, while he feels he has been exiled from your heart, and no words I can utter seem to provide any salve for his pain. I do not have the heart for your cruelty!’_

_‘That is why I am king.’_

_The fingers about her hand tensed, even as she wrapped her arm around his and leaned against him, and he returned his gaze across the realm before him. A cool breeze blew across the balcony, where it rustled her gowns and ruffled her hair, and she clung to him for the warmth that only he could provide, only to shiver at the cold his exhaustion brought. Frigga tasted blood, as she bit her tongue to prevent speaking harsh words. Odin continued:_

_‘I too grieve for our son’s loss, but there are some things I cannot undo.’_

_‘You can restore his powers,’ she pleaded._

_‘No,’ muttered Odin. ‘His fate is in his own hands now . . .’_

* * *

The table burned to touch.

A close look revealed it was sculpted from ice, frosted over with unique patterns that swirled into intricate designs, and even the stalagmites around its edge were filed and shaped into works of art that rivalled any Asgardian creation. It was an unbearable coldness, while every misplaced touch would hurt his skin and melt away the smallest details. He noted well the interior of the room. Ice. Frost. _Cold_. It spoke volumes for a meeting room.

The chairs were equally made from ice, but free from any furs or fabrics. Odin stood between chair and table, as he bit the inside of his cheek to hold back dark words, and he knew well that the room was chosen and decorated to remind him of his outsider status. He watched as his breath collected before him; the clouds of steam were out of place in the frozen wasteland of Jotunheim, while his heavy cloaks and robes only further separated him from the barely clad men that guarded the doors and hallways to the palace. Odin clenched his hands.

A door opened before him.

Laufey appeared flanked by two soldiers; he wore naught but a long leather skirt, designed to protect his modesty and protect his most vulnerable parts in battle, along with vambraces upon his arms that flaunted his wealth and provided no real practical purpose. Those red eyes never wavered from Odin’s face, observing him with cold detachment, while his blue skin appeared taut and the markings of his people deepened with his half-smirk. Odin was loath to admit such a thing, even in his mind, but Laufey looked very much like Loki.

The high cheekbones and sharp features spoke tremendously of Loki, but more so were the expressions that could never have been taught to Loki, and that realisation – as Odin swallowed back his increasing dread – struck harder than any other. Loki would forever hold ties to Laufey. They would forever share in genetics that Odin could not undo, creating a bond that forced his heart to race and blood to run cold. He loathed such jealousness.

“I thank you for this audience, Laufey,” said Odin.

“You lie, Allfather.” Laufey chuckled low and deep. “Tell me, what brings the stench of your blood to my realm? You are in no position to demand anything from me. You are also in no position to request anything from me, not after all that you have stolen from me.”

Laufey stepped within the room. The doors closed behind him, as his guards stood on either side, and he slowly stalked his way to the throne at the opposite end of the table, swinging one foot before the other as if following an invisible line. Odin clenched his fists, as he saw Loki in those deliberate movements. Nothing was said. Laufey simply made his way to the throne – covered with the thick furs absent on Odin’s chair – and lounged with a leg on one arm and his forearm rested on the other . . . graceful, yet casual.

“I have come to request information from you,” admitted Odin.

He kept his back straight and chin high, as he locked eyes with Laufey. The wind howled outside the glass windows that kept out the considerable chill, while snow piled on the sill to create higher and higher mountains of flakes, and he noted how – despite the loss of their source of power – an entire city lay beyond the walls to the wasteland. He noted the buildings carved from ice that rose to the sky, along with cloth-covered market stalls that hosted meats and dairy which were uncommon to Asgard, along with a variety of cultural wares.

The vast amount of snow obscured much from sight, but it could not obscure the people who milled to and fro, where they lived life despite the harsh climate. He saw a child run into the arms of an adult outside what appeared to be a school, while men preformed drills on a military field not far from that same area, and Odin – with closed eyes and pursed lips – turned away as he drew in a deep breath. There were too many memories of blood.

“Humour me,” said Laufey. “What information do you seek?”

“One of our fold is potentially pregnant,” admitted Odin. “A male. We are aware that your people reproduce with only one biological sex, as such we sought knowledge upon how to proceed with the plight that faces the male in question. Our healers ask whether it is safe to terminate such a pregnancy, how best to deliver the child if not, and what medicines –”

Laufey raised a hand and grunted in response. It was a gesture that caused the leather on Odin’s fingerless gloves to creak, as he fisted his hands and clenched his jaw, but he kept his head high and his good eye locked upon Laufey. The aches to his joints were exacerbated by the cold weather, while the standing position did little to alleviate such pain, and yet he bore it with the grace afforded to him by his fathers before him. Laufey swung his legs around, as he leaned on his knees and curled his lip into a dangerous scowl. He spat out:

“This child can be no other than Loki.”

The guards bristled. Hands upon weapons tensed. Odin’s heart raced, as he drew in a deep breath and carefully judged the thickness of the glass and the distance to the main doors, while he nodded slowly toward Laufey with a forced gesture. He saw the fury writ across Laufey’s expression, as muscles bulged and his sharp teeth bared, but Odin bit into his lip and said nothing even as he tasted familiar iron. He waited a long few seconds until he spoke.

“I cannot deny your assumption,” admitted Odin.

“You are a murderer and a thief.” Laufey spat at the ground. “You stole what was ours and left our realm in ruin. We have a right to demand our casket, at least in return for the information that you seek, or – perhaps – you could return the child you stole instead.”

“That _child_ was abandoned in an old temple.”

“Fárbauti died in childbirth,” growled Laufey. “The runt was placed within our temple to be kept safe, but such a holy site was not worth a second thought to the desecrating marauders, was it not? You long for battle. You crave it. I sought only to keep safe the most vulnerable item I possessed, but you saw to it that nothing was truly mine . . . not even my son.”

“Aye, but let us not forget it was _you_ who broke your promise to keep safe my sister.” Odin clenched his hands until the leather cracked. “You have two heirs, Laufey, so what need have you of the third that you left so soon after birth? I saw that boy and I tended to his needs. He was an innocent life, crying out in fear as no one came to his aid, and – while battle raged on – I swore to give him a life that you seemed so unwilling to provide.”

“Tell me, Odin, have you ever lost a child?”

Coldness overcame him separate to the climate. It was a chill that ran bone deep, as his stomach rolled and a wretched nausea overcame him, and – as he swallowed back bile and acid – he licked at his lips and blinked away unshed tears. He struggled to breathe as his heart raced within his chest, thumping out an irregular beat, while his body ached and groaned and longed for the ever elusive sleep, and soon his light-headedness made way for grief and pain and agony. The emotional wound was ever open. Never closed.

He closed his eyes to the old memories . . . _war, the scent of iron, white tiles stained red with blood . . . loss . . . tears, screams, lost promises and broken dreams . . ._ he opened his eyes to see Laufey observing with detached indifference. There was no judgement, only curiosity. It was enough to force a shuddered breath from Odin’s lungs, as he clasped shaking hands before his body and strove to ignore how his heart raced. Odin muttered in a cold voice:

“You know too well of my pain.”

Laufey stood with slow movements, as he moved his way over to the window and took a selection of what appeared to be nuts from a glass bowl, and – with a crack of his hand – the shells scattered and the soft interiors fell on a neighbouring plate. He flicked through the scraps to find the edible insides, while Odin stood in complete silence. No food was offered to him. No liquid was provided to quench his thirst. Laufey turned and leaned against the sill, as he slowly ate the nuts on the plate with loud crunches, before he heaved a long sigh.

“Did you replace her?” Laufey asked. “Your lost Hela?”

“Loki is not a replacement,” spat Odin.

“No. No one can replace a child. I have spent too many days wondering what form my son now takes, whether he looks more like the wife I once loved or the reflection I so fear, but every day I look upon Helblindi and Býleistr -? I see the son I have lost.”

Odin gave an almost imperceptible wince. The sounds of screams still echoed in his ears, as he kept his head low and repeated the words of his wife within his mind, and yet no condolences or reassurances could undo the scene that played before him. Laufey looked out of the window, red eyes scouring the realm that lay before him, but nothing was said even as the obnoxious crunch came from every bite of those strange nuts. The seconds drifted into minutes, as the guards shuffled from foot to foot, before Laufey said in a cold voice:

“You took Loki to be nothing more than a pawn.”

“Aye, that I did,” confessed Odin. “It was my hope that Loki could be groomed to be the perfect spouse, where we would unite two realms and form a permanent alliance, and I will not disrespect your intelligence by claiming my motives anything other than selfish. I will say that my motives soon changed once my son was placed within the arms of my wife; I saw him cry, I saw him laugh, and I saw him develop into his own person.

“Loki was raised as Thor’s twin. This is knowledge that will become clear to you should this pregnancy advance; I kept his name to honour my lost sister, but hid from him the knowledge of his birth so that he would never feel different or excluded. It was my wife that trained him in battle. It was I that taught him diplomacy. _He is my son_. None else can lay claim to him.”

“Except his true father,” hissed Laufey.

“I _am_ his true father.” Odin clenched his jaw until it ached. “It matters not what my intentions once were, but only that I now intend to lay claim to him. If you wish for war, Laufey, you shall have war, but think carefully about what a battle for Loki would bring forth. Loki knows not of his condition, but one day he shall, and – on that day – you will either be the man who gave him the information to make an informed choice or the man who impeded his health.”

Laufey slammed his open hand on the glass bowl. The glass shattered and the pieces scattered, while the cacophony of noise startled a younger guard by the doors, and – as he removed his hand – Odin saw the faint races of blue blood run down his palm. He snarled with a curl of his lip, before he marched to his throne and all but threw himself on the cold ice, and leaned his head on his closed fist. Odin stood still. He locked eyes with Laufey, even as he watched the blood trickle down his vambrace and onto the ice.

“Likewise, Allfather,” said Laufey.

“I have done nothing that would harm my son.”

“Ah, but you have.” Laufey smirked. “You chose to not return him. Here he would be given access to full healthcare, where our healers are specialised in his biology, and he would have the love of a father once denied to him by a tyrant. Can your people provide should a mistake occur? Can they deliver a child with safety? Can they ease his inevitable pain?”

“You have but one choice, Laufey: help us or impede us.”

“I choose to fight for what is mine.”

Odin nodded. The guards behind him opened the doors, allowing in a cold draught that blew through the meeting chamber and added to the cold, and he let out a shuddered sigh as his breath steamed before him and the small clouds dissipated on the air. He strove to still his racing heart, as he swept his cape over his arm and pulled the fabric close to his chest. The modicum of warmth did little to overcome the rush of adrenaline.

He turned his back to Laufey. The long hallway before him brought an ache to his joints, as he drew in a deep breath in expectation of the walk ahead, and already the palpitations began and his head grew light. The fatigue was bone deep, working its way into every muscle and every inch of skin, but somehow he found enough strength to remain upright and fight away the inevitable sleep. Odin glanced over his shoulder, where he saw the loss and betrayal etched across Laufey’s features. He said in a slow and firm voice:

“You would have not known were it not for today.”

“No, I would not have known,” admitted Laufey. “I would have _suspected_ that the boy with black hair – hair black as Fárbauti, eyes green as Fárbauti – to be my son stolen away to become another heir of the Allfather, but I would have no proof and no means to seek justice for the crimes cast against me. Now I know. Now I seek justice.”

“It was not you who tended to him when he was sick,” chided Odin. “I mopped his brow. I kissed away the nightmares. I punished his tantrums. I rewarded his achievements. I have done all that I can to shape him into the man he is today, but you -? Naught.”

“You stole from me those moments. You cast me from his life.”

“Aye, I stole him from you. That is true.”

The words weighed heavy upon him. He thought to moments lost with Thor . . . his first hunt with his friends, his first steps with his mother, and his first words to his caretakers . . . every moment lost was a moment that brought with it great grief. It was impossible to imagine an entire lifetime stolen from him, but equally impossible to imagine a life without the son who brought so many tears of both pain and laughter. Loki was his son, even if his blood belonged to that of another. Odin flexed his hands, while his vision blurred, and asked:

“Will you truly not help Loki in his hour of need?”

“I will help my son once he is returned to me,” replied Laufey. “If that makes me a bad father, I shall remind you that you deny my conditions. You also withhold help. It seems we both selfishly value my son by our sides than we do his ultimate health. Congratulations, Allfather, for you have become the very monster you so accurse. I applaud you.”

“If that is all, I will send forth a messenger later this week.” Odin turned to bow deep at Laufey. “I will give you time to consider your position and discuss it with your advisors, but I hope that war can be avoided and we will continue to maintain our discussions.”

“It is too late for talks. Leave, before my patience grows thin.”

“As you wish, King Laufey. I bid you farewell.”

Odin marched forth through the icy hallways, flanked by the Jotun guards who kept pace with weapons in tow, and – as his thoughts turned to Heimdall – a cold sweat broke over his skin and brought with it an intense sense of fear . . . fear of falling prey to the Odinsleep before reaching Asgard, fear of a war that could threaten both their peoples, and fear of losing Loki when he strove so hard to keep him within their fold. He struggled to breathe, even as he left their stronghold and moved alone to clear plains. It would not be long . . .

He grew ever fainter.

 

 

 


	9. Chapter 9

“If only we had more time.”

Odin spoke in barely a whisper. He hunched his shoulders, as he stood with his back to the private lounge, and he looked out across his realm with a frown that deepened the lines to his forehead and the corners of his eyes. Frigga walked across the room by his side; the skirts of her nightdress swept out behind her, as she forced a smile and brushed a hand through long locks of hair, and – as the scent of her perfume drifted with her – Odin turned to finally look at her with a smile. It was all she could do not to embrace him, as she observed:

“For once, our eldest needs something we cannot provide.”

“I can fight the sleep a little longer . . .”

The paleness to his skin, as well as the raspiness to his breath, betrayed his exhaustion. Frigga touched his arm, clad only in soft materials and free from armour, and winced as her fingers came into contact with an icy cold so unlike his usual warmth. He tensed underneath her hold, while an almost imperceptible tremor overcame him, and he strained to stay upright under the pressure of painful joints and immense fatigue. Frigga held tight.

A warm breeze washed over the balcony, but it only brought a hiss from Odin’s lips. He scrunched closed his eyes and swayed where he stood, and Frigga – as her heart raced and eyes widened – threw out her hand to catch him, only for him to quickly grasp onto her long fingers and hold them close to his chest. The smile that graced his lips was almost sincere, while he pressed a chaste kiss to the crown of her head, and as he pulled back she clung to him with both hands. Knuckles turned white with pressure, as she gripped the fabric.

He wrapped his arms around her, holding her close with her hands clasped between them, and – for several long minutes – they simply embraced with a comfortable silence, while she listened to the hoarse intake of breath. The idea of prolonging the sleep brought tears to her eyes, enough for her to pull back and stroke his cheek with a gentle brush of her thumb, and she forced a trembling smile as she shook her head and gently swatted his chest.

“No,” whispered Frigga.

“Our sons need our support,” said Odin.

“Aye, but I worry for you.” Frigga caressed his neck with teary eyes. “You have put off the sleep for far too long, so much so that there is every risk this may be your last. I cannot bear the thought of a life without you, my love. Do not delay any longer.”

“I’ve destroyed demons and monsters, devastated entire worlds, laid waste to mighty kingdoms, and yet still you worry for me? How long will you fret and fear?”  

“Always.”

Frigga held tight once again; she half-narrowed her eyes and fixed him with a stern gaze, as she took his callused hand and brought it to her chest, pressing it flat so that he would feel her heart race against his palm, and leaned closer so that her breath mingled with every exhale from his lungs. He blinked away tears in turn, as the breeze grew stronger, and leaned his forehead upon hers. They closed their eyes. They basked in the warmth and familiarity, while far below the sounds of their people echoed and sang about, and soon Odin broke the silence.

“Do not worry, at least for today,” pleaded Odin. “Now come . . . kiss your king.”

The smile was tinged with sorrow. A tear ran down her cheek, as she pressed her lips to Odin’s and gasped as he reciprocated in earnest, and soon a hand grasped her neck and fingers threaded their way into her hair. The kiss deepened, while butterflies filled her stomach and her heart raced for reasons other than fear, but still the tears ran and her hands clung to him as if he were her only lifeline. Seconds drifted into minutes.

A cough from the main doors broke the spell.

Frigga pulled away from her husband, with flushed cheeks and swollen lips, as she raised a hand to hide her mouth and turned away from him with her eyes cast away, while Odin coughed continuously into a closed fist and stepped down into the main room. It took them a few seconds to collect themselves, especially as her eyes moved to see Loki with a mortified expression leaning against the now closed doors, as he stared awkwardly at the wall.

He was dressed in pyjamas of a rough material, both plain and in his familiar green, but over them he threw a robe so expensive in material – so deep in hue, so heavily embroidered – that the contrast was hard to reconcile. The morning was still early, enough so that he likely still had yet to find nourishment. Frigga glanced to the table between the various sofas, where platters of fresh fruits were strewn high and various broths still steamed from golden bowls, and she took a seat beside them with a warm smile, as Loki asked in a tired voice:

“You did call for me?”

Frigga patted the cushions beside her, before she collected a plate and piled it with all the foods claimed by the healers to best aid foetal development. The plate grew heavy in her hands, until she was forced to balance it on her lap, and – as Loki dropped onto the seat, legs parted and hands clasped between him – he looked to her with a raised eyebrow. Frigga scoffed with a roll of her eyes, only to hand him the plate with a bright and genuine smile.

“My son, you must be hungry,” said Frigga. “Please, eat.”

“That depends, Mother.” Loki folded his arms. “I am being called forth by the healers every day for ‘checks’, but entire sections of my medical records are being obscured from me. If I sit and play nice, will you reveal what is being hidden? I have a right to know.”

“That is part of why we called you forth, Loki,” called Odin.

“Indeed, my son,” said Frigga. “Now . . . please?”

Loki rolled his eyes. He reluctantly picked at the fruit as Odin sat opposite them, taking in turn a bowl of porridge drenched in honey and berries, and both men ate with almost silent gestures, although the quiet was uncomfortable between them. Frigga sat tense. The muscles in her body stiffened, as her heart raced and she watched the sceptical distrust from their youngest son, while her husband looked to her with pleading and half-lidded eyes, and neither said a word as they ate only a few feet apart. Frigga swallowed hard.

“First,” begged Frigga, “know that we love you.”

The plate clattered in his hold. A stray grape rolled off his lap and onto the floor, where it bounced with little sound or acknowledgement, and Loki – eyes wavering, ever focussed upon her – paled to the extent that she instinctively reached out for him. He pulled away. It brought tears to her eyes, as she moved her hands to her chest and clasped them until her knuckles whitened, and watched as Loki’s lip trembled and he choked out:

“Am I sick? Is that it?”

“No. No! You are not sick at all.” Frigga took his hand into hers. “I was most pleased to hear from the healers that you are in perfect health; they request that you seek therapy for your emotional wounds, which we shall provide, but – otherwise – your body has fully recovered from your trauma and no scars shall remain upon you. You are well, my son.”

“But there _is_ something of which we must discuss,” interjected Odin. “I did not think now the time to discuss this matter, but your mother insisted that it was for the best. It is true that I have requested the healers to hide certain matters from you. This I cannot deny.”

“What matters is that it changes not what we feel for you.”

“Aye, you are our son, Loki. I remember you as the boy you once were, a trickster and a mischief maker, and I consider it my deepest honour to watch you grow from that boy into the young man before me, as such I pray that you will find it in your heart to forgive an old man his secrets. This was something we kept only to protect you. We love you, Loki.”

Loki slid his plate onto the table, where the metal scraped against the tabletop. The sound set Frigga on edge, especially to see some of the fruits tumble over the edge and onto the floor, and Loki – usually far more respectful before her – simply looked from parent to parent with eyes wide and a smile that trembled with jerky movements. He visibly swallowed, as a choked laugh escaped his lips and he ran a hand through loose black hair. Frigga reached out to put a hand on his knee. Loki shook his head and said in a cool voice:

“You are beginning to frighten me.”

Odin sat back as the loose fabric clung to him, and – in his sleeping attire – he looked far older and weaker than Frigga could bear to witness. He struggled to breathe, but hid his tiredness well from their son, even if he could not hide such a sickness from her, and so she looked to him and briefly squinted her eyes in a signal. Odin caught her gaze and smiled until the weight of his inevitable task fell upon him. His smile fell. He choked out in a quiet voice:

“You are adopted, Loki.”

_Silence._

Frigga heard only the beat of her heart. Odin looked with shimmering eyes to their son, as he pursed his lips and his cheeks sunk, and – as he strove to fight back tears – Frigga squeezed closed her eyes and blew out a long exhale of breath. The only sound was that of Odin placing his bowl on the table, as well as a slight rustle of fabric, as Loki raised a hand to his mouth and gripped at his lips as if to force himself not to speak a word.

He tensed underneath her touch, while his face paled and his eyes blinked rapidly, and – as he verged upon hyperventilation – he collapsed back on the sofa and looked up at the ceiling, his eyes glassy and unfocussed. Frigga watched as he ran his hands over his face, while he continuously opened and closed his mouth in search of words. It took all her strength not to embrace him, as she wrapped her arms about herself, and Loki half-laughed and half-choked as he sat back upright and looked between his two parents in fear. He whispered:

“I am _what_?”

“It was something I sought to tell you long ago,” revealed Frigga. “It simply became harder and harder the older you became, so that the fear grew compounded, and each year brought with it the words ‘we shall tell him the next’. The years grew into decades, then centuries, and every time we would fear for what we may lose. We were afraid to hurt you.”

“So – So – So does Thor know?” Loki asked. “Is this what the healers hide?”

“Thor does not know,” promised Odin. “We owed it to you to be the first we told. You were indeed younger than Thor, which is why we believed it fair to raise you as the younger sibling, and you were never loved any less for being of other blood.”

“Is this – Is this why Thor was always the favourite?”

“Oh, Loki,” whispered Frigga.

A tear fell down Loki’s cheek. It rolled onto a trembling lip, as his eyes moved from parent to parent, and Frigga – unable to hold back any longer – slid next to him and wrapped her arms around him, while she pulled his head to her chest. He cried against her, while she placed her hands upon his back and head, and each wracked sob brought forth decades of pain, so much so that she cast a dark look to Odin. Odin winced and shook his head, unable to say a word, but soon Loki composed himself, as he pulled himself away from Frigga and sniffed.

“Why –?” Loki screwed closed his eyes. “Why was I adopted?”

Odin remained silent. It forced a sharp intake of breath from Frigga, as her hands remained clasped upon her son, and she glared at him in silent warning, which was taken with only a slight purse of his lips and paleness to his cheeks. Loki laughed weakly in response, as he wiped at his cheeks with the palms of his hands. He weakly smiled and grabbed at her hands, gently pulling them away and forcing them on her lap, as he struggled for breath and slowly ceased his tears. He spoke next with a quiet and broken voice:

“Am I cursed? Am I – I broken in some way? What am I?”

“You are my son,” said Odin.

“No,” said Loki. “No, what _more_ than that?”

He chopped at the air with violent gestures, as his hands shook and struggled to remain open, and – recognising the signs of a panic attack – Frigga quickly took his hands and allowed him to grip her for need of distraction. He lost control of his hands, as his fingers clenched of their own accord. He struggled to breathe. He wavered where he sat. It took all her strength not to call off such a discussion, as she debated taking him to the healers, but Loki looked so adamantly and pleadingly to the Allfather that she lost all heart.

“It began during the war,” whispered Frigga.

“Aye,” said Odin. “It was in the aftermath of battle. I uncovered the loss of my sister, Fárbauti, and my grief was more than I could bear and my pain larger than I could endure. I wandered into a temple in hopes of prayer and peace. There I found a baby; small for a giant’s offspring, but healthy and strong, with a fine pair of lungs that reminded me of Thor.

“The child was abandoned . . . suffering, left to die . . . I saw the facial features of an Asgardian, which was enough to alert me to the truth. This child was the son of Fárbauti. I saw my nephew and my blood, along with a piece of my sister long thought lost, and I cast forth a spell – using my blood – to change its form into one whose Asgardian line was dominant. I swore that I would love that child as my own. I did.”

“Your sister . . . the one who a-absconded with a Jotun?”

“The one that absconded with Laufey, yes.”

Loki stood and swayed on his feet. He buried his hands into his hair, as his lip curled and his eyes blinked away tears, and – with a shuddered breath – he laughed long and hard, until the sound turned into a cacophony of noise . . . laughter into a moan, a moan into a cry . . . he screamed out as he stamped his foot and pointed an accusatory finger to Odin. The finger trembled as his face flushed red and his eyes narrowed. He panted for breath before he swallowed hard and steadied himself, as he asked in a whisper barely heard:

“I am Laufey’s son?”

Odin nodded. The change in Loki was immediate; he placed a hand on his hip, as the other ran over his face and pulled at his mouth, and the expression of confused horror that overwhelmed him was enough for tears to well in her eyes. He looked at his arm. Loki rolled up the sleeve of his pyjama top, as he stared at the pale flesh in absolute disgust, and – as his lip curled – he shook his head and dropped him arm to ask:

“Why? Why not leave me to die?”

“You were but a babe.”

“Aye, a _Jotun_ babe!” Loki leaned forward with arms parted. “You were knee-deep in Jotun blood. Why would you take me? Why not slide your sword into my flesh and put me out of my miserable existence? Why not leave me to starve and die alone? No. No, you – you took me for a _reason_. Everything you do is for a reason! What purpose did your actions serve?”

Odin remained silent. The fatigue was writ across his features, as his unfocused eyes gazed towards the floor and his body hunched over, and Frigga – seeing the inevitable sleep of her husband, seeing the growing rage of her son – stood and brought a hand to her chest. It was impossible to quell her racing heart. Frigga swallowed hard, as her mouth ran dry, and looked to Loki who panted for breath and clenched his hands into right fists by his sides. He bent nearly in two as his mouth contorted into a sickening sight, and he screamed wildly:

“ _Tell me_!”

Frigga winced and raised her hands to her ears. The pain was intense, as Loki wept and panted for breath in a desperate need for air, and the tears streamed down his face until he spat them out and rubbed awkwardly at his eyes to regain vision. Odin climbed to his feet, stumbling forward a few steps and knocking the contents of the breakfast table to the floor, but he steadied himself. He stood slumped and small, as he weakly confessed:

“I thought we could unite our people.”

“A union? Is _that_ it?”

“I thought we would unite our kingdoms,” murmured Odin. “We would bring about an alliance, bring about a permanent peace . . . through _you_ , my son. I intended to raise you as a future spouse for Thor, but those plans no longer matter.”

“So – So I am no more than a stolen relic?” Loki laughed through his tears. “I am to be locked up here until you have use of me? A tool for peace? A trophy bride?”

“Why do you twist my words?” Odin snarled.

Odin closed his eyes. He paled. He stumbled once more, while Loki paced back and forth with head down and hands wringing the air before him, and Frigga – as she ran to her husband’s side – wrapped her arms about Odin to hold him upright. Every rasped breath shook his body, so the cruel vibrations could be experienced from the touch, yet still he reached out a shaking hand towards Loki and whispered his son’s name, even as Loki spat:

“You could have told me from the beginning.”

Loki snatched a goblet from the table. He bounced it within his hand, until he snarled and growled and screamed, and – in a violent gesture – flung it across the room where it struck the wall, and wine ran down the plaster like blood. Loki buried a hand in his hair and yanked until Frigga cried out, worried that he might rip hair from scalp, and yet Loki said nothing as he turned and pointed again toward his father and gasped for breath. Odin took a step forward, tears streaming down his cheeks in turn, but Loki shook his head over and over.

“Why?” Loki begged. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You are my son. My blood. I wanted only to protect you from the truth.”

“O-Oh, because what -?” Loki screamed with a voice raw and broken: “Because I am the monster that parents tell their children about at night? Oh, it all makes sense now! Why you favoured Thor for all these years! Because no matter how much you claim to love me, you could never have a Frost Giant sitting on the throne of Asgard!”

Loki turned his back to them. He marched towards the main doors, movements fast and jerky, while Odin reached out with all his strength towards his son, and – as his half-raised hand shook and trembled – his mouth opened and closed with incoherent mutters. Loki marched on. Frigga wept in turn and clung to her husband, and his footsteps grew further and further away, lost in his grief and unknowing of his condition. Odin pushed Frigga back, as he stumbled forward with swaying body. He struggled to breathe . . . to walk . . .  

“Please . . . Loki . . .”

The world stopped. Odin took one last step, before he collapsed. Frigga watched the world in slow motion, seeing him slowly sway and fall face first onto the floor, and – as a loud noise echoed about the room – her heart stopped within her chest. Loki stopped in his tracks. He stood with his back to them, while he looked slowly over his shoulder. They both waited, as if Odin may stand at any second, but he lay there . . . prone . . . vulnerable.

Frigga ran to his side, as she dropped to her knees. He was unconscious, and so weak that she could roll him onto his back without issue, and – as she stroked his cheeks and whispered reassurances to him – he stirred not once. Loki gasped and slowly walked over to them, as Frigga examined his body for wounds or bruises, even as her heart raced and a horrid sweat broke over her skin, and soon her son knelt before Odin with wide-eyes. He reached out, as if to touch Odin, but pulled back with a trembling hand. Frigga caught his hesitation.

A Jotun could burn Asgardian skin without appropriate self-control, and Loki – already lost in despair and panic – seemed to forget his Asgardian side. He soon touched briefly his father’s forehead, pulling back his hand quickly, before he heaved a sigh of relief and touched again the cold skin that was so unreceptive to stimulus. The tears stopped as new determination and purpose surged through him, and he scrunched closed his eyes.

“Guards!” Loki cried. “Guards! My father needs help!”

The guards soon burst inside. They guided Loki and Frigga away to one side, where Frigga embraced her son and ran long fingers through loose locks, and – as he gasped with worried breaths – they watched as the guards sent forth for healers and lifted Odin upward, where they made their way with him to the royal bedchambers. Frigga led Loki close behind, ever keeping her arms locked around him, as she breathed deep and forced a broken smile.

“He will be fine,” swore Frigga.

 

 

 


	10. Chapter 10

Odin was weak.

He lay prone upon the marital bed with eyes closed, clad only in his nightshirt with chest rising and falling in a slow rhythm, and his arms rested flat and motionless by his sides, as if he were nothing more than a puppet with its strings slashed. Grey hair spread about him like a halo, loose and long about a pale and wrinkled face, and the white blankets came to his waist and kept him warm as he slept. Loki swallowed hard and blinked back tears.

The golden barrier around Odin stemmed from his Odinsleep. It interacted with the bedchambers in a way Loki never quite understood, so that the life-force covered Odin and his bed like a shield, but it appeared to interact with the very walls themselves, bringing them closer until the room became like a crypt. He half-remembered vague words as a child . . . _‘the room may seal off the daylight, my son, but it protects your father from any intruders, there is but one way in and out’_. . . Loki shivered and rolled back his shoulders.

It was too dark within the room; his mother sat by his side with his hand held in hers, gently stroking the skin as if the low light provided no strain on her eyes, and – with a wince – Loki would readily admit the changes to the room provided greater protection. The foot of the bed even held two immense swords, with the hilts disguised as decorative bedknobs that blended in seamlessly with the rest of the decor. Frigga smiled down on him.

“I never get used to seeing him like this,” whispered Loki.

He sat on the other side to Odin. The air inside the barrier was warm, as if it crackled with life, and every hair on his body stood on end, as the sparks of electric sent strange sensations across his flesh, enough to wince and strain and grow light-headed. Loki saw the deep lines etched on Odin’s eyes and forehead, while a few age spots appeared on his temple, and even his hair – still full and thick – receded slightly on his head. Tears pricked at the corner of Loki’s eyes, as he let out a shuddered breath and said:

“He is the most powerful being in all nine realms.”

“He’s put this off for so long. I fear that –”

Frigga stopped mid-sentence. The words died on her lips, as she drew in a broken breath and swallowed back her pain, and – as she intertwined his fingers with hers – she reached out with a free hand to lay her palm on his chest, just over his heart. Loki bit his lip and looked away, before he leaned over and rested his hand over hers, where her warmth provided a stark contrast with the cold skin of the Allfather, and he let out a long and broken sigh.

“You are a good son,” said Frigga.

“Am I still your son?” Loki asked. “Does he still love me? Did he _ever_ love me?”

“Oh, Loki.” A tear rolled down her cheek. “I asked him to be honest with you from the beginning, as there should be no secrets between family, but you have seen his stubbornness firsthand and that is a stubbornness you both share. You are too much like your father, so that when you speak it is often his voice I hear. He merely sought to protect you.”

Silence fell about the room. Loki gnawed at his lip, as he pulled away and slumped in his chair, and – as he clasped his hands between his legs – he watched as his mother sat on the edge of the bed and leaned down to place a kiss on Odin’s forehead. It was a chaste and gentle kiss, but it brought a wide smile to her lips that made the unshed tears sparkle before they fell, and her hand caressed Odin’s cheeks with a soft gesture. Loki looked away with a faint blush, even as he dug at the skin on his thumbs and muttered:

“So why did he lie?”

“He kept the truth from you so that you would never feel different,” admitted Frigga. “You are in every way our son, Loki, and we are your family. You must know that. If I could instil in you any knowledge in this known universe, it would be this: you are loved.”

“I am of Jotun blood. How can I possibly be loved?”

“Fárbauti once loved a Jotun. Can you not – in turn – love yourself?”

Loki curled his lip and scoffed. The parents before him were so Asgardian, with pale and soft skin, and they bore the same height and stature and features as any other Asgardian, so that with every glance he looked into the eyes of those like his reflection. He saw himself in their eyes . . . in their gestures . . . in their behaviours. Loki clenched his fist until the leather his knuckles turned white, while the soft fabric of his gown creased with his hunched position and tensed muscles. There was noise outside. It echoed through the bedchamber.

He raised his head to look at the doors, where bloodshot eyes ached and bags weighed heavy on the skin beneath, and – as he tried to discern the clatter of armour and raised voices – a dark realisation dawned on him that they would need to tell Thor. _Thor_. The room was too small with Odin so weak, meaning every word would reverberate like a shout and every movement risked one touching another. Loki swallowed hard, as his heart raced. He asked:

“How long will his sleep last?”

“I know not,” said Frigga. “This time is different. We were unprepared, while he postponed his sleep so long in hopes of reconciling things between you and Thor . . . you can speak to him, though. He can see and hear us, even now. The sleep should restore him.”

“What if – What if he dies thinking I hate him?”

“Oh, Loki.” Frigga allowed a tear to fall. “We mustn’t lose hope that your father shall return to us, or that your brother shall prove his worth, and – until that day – we have each other and we have an infinite realm of possibilities before us. I dream of the day I shall see my husband hold our first grandchild in his arms, which is a dream I refuse to believe a pipe-dream.

“I know what you seek to ask: ‘what hope is there for Thor’? I know you too well, enough so that I sometimes fear I can read your mind before you even know your mind, but know that there is _always_ purpose to everything your father does. Thor may yet find a way to gain your forgiveness, just as he may mature and grow and learn his worth, and perhaps – with time – you will both become the kings your father dreamt you to become.”

Loki could endure no more. He stood with hands clenched at his sides, while the dull ache to his lower back threatened to increase with his exertions, and – as he drew in slow and steady breaths – his racing heart pounded in his ears and added to his light-headedness. The walls seemed to close around them. Odin lay prone, while Loki’s world collapsed around him, and Frigga thought to Thor . . . not to them . . . _to Thor_. He marched to the doors. Each slap of his slippers on the tiles sounded louder than it ought, while his hand moved to the handles.

The doors swung open before him.

He jumped back, blinking away his confusion, as he stared down at his hand as if somehow it made contact without his realisation, but instead three guards appeared in a triangle formation just a few feet in front of him. They blocked his only exit. Panic set in, as he gasped for breath and buried his hands within his hair, and – just as he swayed and blinked away tears – the guard in lead fell to his knees. The others fell in turn. Gungnir was pulled from a sheath on the lead guard’s side, before it was presented forth to Loki in two waiting hands.

Loki rapidly blinked. He looked to Frigga; she nodded with a gentle smile, and – with trembling hands – he took the spear and let the cool metal warm to his touch, surprisingly far lighter than he remembered from play in his youth. The guards stood and bowed to him, before they departed. The doors closed behind them. Loki lifted the spear vertically and let the bottom bang lightly on the floor, as he turned to his mother with furrowed brow.

“I do not understand,” muttered Loki.

Frigga stood to her feet, but one hand remained upon Odin. Long fingers brushed his shoulder, where they pressed lightly against the muscle, and – as if reluctant to leave his side – she took only a step towards Loki, unable to move any further from her husband. Loki opened his mouth wide, unable to articulate any sounds as his silver tongue turned to lead, and already a sinking sensation overwhelmed his stomach. He grew nauseous. He stumbled back a step and pushed the spear further from his body, as Frigga nodded slowly to him.

“Thor has been banished from our court,” explained Frigga. “He has his powers stripped from him, which means the line of succession falls upon you. Until your father awakens, Asgard is yours to command. Make your father proud, my son.”

“I – I am no ruler! I was raised to be an advisor.”

“You were raised a _prince_. You know our laws better than no other; I have seen you guide Thor from spontaneous recklessness into thoughtful consideration, while you are so much a role-model to our people that – in a far future – I half-suspect they will erect a statue in your name. You are more than for which you give yourself credit. You are a good king.”

Loki gripped hard at the staff. He drew in a deep breath, knowing – as he screwed shut his eyes – that her faith in him bordered on favouritism, and only Gungnir grounded him as he held the weight of their realm in his hands. Odin remained still where he lay; the slow movements of his chest provided a small comfort, as Loki watched him with teary eyes and a trembling lip, and soon he brought the staff to his chest and hugged it tight, as he struggled to breathe through his panic. One thought came to his mind:

“This was to go to Thor.”

Frigga knelt beside the bed, as she took Odin’s hand and brought it to her lips. The silence allowed Loki’s mind to race, as his lips quirked into a smile despite his tears, and – as he tasted the salty bitterness on his lips – he shook his head with a dark laugh. He struggled to comprehend the power in his grasp, even while he moved the staff from hand to hand with firm and violent gestures, and he allowed his eyes to watch the door once more, as if Thor would storm through at any second and steal from him the power _given_ to him alone.

Loki was _worthy_. He was deemed worthy of the throne, a feat that would need to be defended and protected, lest his brother steal forth that right from him, and – as his lower back ached, still bruised, still reminding him of the rape just eight days earlier – he closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath, while he forced down his pride and shame and panic. He looked back to Frigga, who gazed back with half-closed eyes and a gentle nod of her head. Loki vowed:

“I will do you proud, Mother.”

 

 

 


	11. Chapter 11

Mjölnir took the central place.

It sat as a permanent reminder of his failures; Thor narrowed his gaze at the handle, as he watched the light stream through to shine from the leather, and the cracks in the tiles below lifted up like mountain shards around the hammer itself. He stood before it too many times that week, as he howled and raged and strove to regain control of the weapon now lost, but each time brought nothing but tears and shame and exhaustion. He was not yet worthy.

The two sofas sat either sides of the hammer, with the one on the right still piled with luxurious pillows indented with the shape of Loki’s body, and before him – high on the dais – sat the all too familiar chair of their father. It occupied too much space. It blocked light from the archways beyond, casting shadows down across Mjölnir, and Thor bit the inside of his lip until he tasted blood, unable to quell the racing of his heart. Loki sat with one leg rested across the other, as he lounged back with one hand on the armrest.

He was dressed in full armour, complete with the headpiece that so often brought teasing remarks from Thor, while Gungnir stood grasped in his hand with a commanding presence in its own right, while Loki’s green eyes locked upon Thor with an odd indifference. Thor noted how his eyes looked half-lidded, lips downturned, caught between sorrow and disgust, and – as Thor pursed his lips in turn, fisting his hands tight – he spat out a cold question:

“You would pick _here_ of all places for audience?”

Loki hardened his expression. He gripped harder on Gungnir, while Sif and the Warriors Three bristled behind Thor in a triangle formation, and – as formidable as they appeared – one cold look from Loki was enough to make Thor’s blood run cold. The memories of spells and sparring matches came to mind, enough to know that Loki could be a fearsome opponent should Thor allow emotion to overcome reason, and often Loki’s strategic ability overcame Thor’s brute strength. Still, he also remembered Loki’s humiliation at his many losses.

The years spent between them no longer brought comfort, as he looked into the bloodshot eyes of a stranger, and Loki – with lips pursed into a white line – locked his eyes with Thor, never wavering and never otherwise altering his expression. It was a cruel stalemate. Thor made to storm forward, until Fandral by his right grabbed at his forearm, pulling him back with a jerk of his head and a warning quick quirk of his eyebrow. Loki said in a cold voice:

“You asked for an audience with your king?”

“I asked to visit our father.”

“You know as well as I that our father has fallen into the Odinsleep.” Loki waved a hand in the air. “Mother fears he may never awaken; I have struggled through my _bruising_ to sit and attend all duties asked of me, but our kingdom and our people must come first. I have chosen to shake off personal discomfort and fulfil the duties of a king as asked by Mother.”

Thor stepped forward once more, only to be yanked back again by Fandral, and – as Sif placed a hand on his shoulder, fencing him in from the other side – he shrugged them off and rolled his shoulders over and over, while clenching his hands. The guards stood around the private lounge, while armour clattered and rattled with every movement, and Thor scanned the perimeter as he drew in deep and slow breaths. Sif and Fandral stepped back, while he leaned forward and jabbed at the air with a rigid finger. He glared to Loki.

“You are no king, Loki,” spat Thor. “You cannot deny me my right to see our father! You – You _stage_ an audience in this room? With Mjölnir? You are not attending to the duties of a king, but instead seeking to punish me by humiliating me! You would deny me all rights owed by familial ties? You are a child. Father would not approve of this farce!”

“Oh, you are so brave with your friends to back you up,” replied Loki. “I see that you feel free to say whatever you wish, so long as you rely upon someone _else_ to hold you back. No self-control even now, hmm? Well, _you_ have held _me_ back for long enough. Today –”

“Today, _what_? If I have done something to offend you, Brother –”

“Your very presence offends me, _Brother_.”

Thor roared until his voice grew hoarse. Loki paled, but no words escaped his lips and no movement was made, and – as the guards stood on full alert, weapons raised – Thor looked to his father’s throne and imagined what words of warning or chastisement he would utter. He screwed closed his eyes, as tears pricked at the corners, and slowed his breaths enough to compose himself, as clenched fists opened up and muscles slumped. Silence. The only sounds were the muttered complaints of Fandral and the whispers of the guards.

He cast his eyes downward, as he thought to his father . . . _‘patience yields focus, you will win far more battles against your brother once you match his wit with wit’ . . ._ the anger burned at him, as adrenaline coursed through every vein, and his temples throbbed with a heavy pressure, enough that he winced and shook his head. Loki hissed and stood to his feet, using Gungnir to brace his weight and likely alleviate the pain from behind.

“I will speak to Thor alone,” said Loki. “Leave.”

The guards hesitated.

“ _I said: ‘leave’!_ ”

The guards flinched. A few closest signalled to the Warriors Three and Sif, as they gestured to the doors where all other guards and servants fled with quick paces, and – As Hogun sneered and stormed away – Thor noted Fandral and Volstagg to be more hesitant, as Fandral licked at his lips and Volstagg rubbed at his neck. They angled their body towards the door, but remained ever loyal and stood their ground, until Thor nodded and forced a smile.

Fandral was the first to follow Hogun, while Volstagg clapped a hand on his shoulder and squeezed tight, and soon all except Sif were gone from the private lounge, where the door slammed behind them with an ominous echo about the four walls. Loki stood and sauntered down the steps of the dais, until he was but a foot before Thor with staff in hand. They both stood tall. They both locked eyes. Thor clenched his fist once more, as his heart raced, until Loki turned to Sif and quirked an eyebrow. Sif quirked an eyebrow back

“I would remain,” said Sif.

Loki scoffed and threw himself on the sofa. He winced less and sat almost as normal, while he discarded several of the pillows onto the floor, and – as he reclined – Thor smiled despite himself and sat at the foot of the sofa, lifting Loki’s feet onto his lap. A sigh escaped Loki’s lips, as he lightly kicked at Thor’s chest, and Thor instinctively massaged at the calves beneath his hands, even as the leather creaked and provided a small obstacle. Sif teased:

“How long until you remember your grudges?”

Sif sat opposite them; fabric rustled and the springs creaked, enough that it brought both men to the reality of the situation, and the anger soon returned as Thor eyed Mjölnir, as his hands clenched around Loki’s leg enough to leave marks beneath the skin. The anger returned to Loki, as he kicked hard enough at Thor’s side that he feared – for a brief second – skin had been broken beneath the heel of that booted foot. Loki pulled his legs away, curling against his side of the sofa, even as Thor swallowed hard and asked in a harsh whisper:

“Let me speak to Mother.”

“Mother refuses to leave our father’s bedside,” admitted Loki. “I say this sincerely: you can bring all urgent matters to me. All of us must stand together, for the sake of Asgard, and I would gladly accept you by my side . . . just as _my_ place was to be by yours.”

“Is this what this is about? You seek to best me at last?”

“Oh please, I _always_ bested you.” Loki smirked and shrugged. “I do remember how I first learned to change my appearance by magic, assuming other forms without physically changing my body, and how you would _always_ fall every time for the same old trick. I – of course – never expected old habits to die _this_ hard, but you never did learn, did you?”

“You are trying to coax me into a fight,” observed Thor with a laugh. “Come, this rivalry of yours suits you not! If you seek to win Father’s approval, why not show some leniency and allow me to see the very man that raised me? This foul mood isn’t you. I know you, Loki; you are the boy that cried when his rabbit died, as well as the boy who crawled into my bed after nightmares, but now you pretend to be man enough to keep me from our father?”

Loki scoffed and waved a hand in the air; he sat upright, with forearms loosely rested on his legs, as he looked to Gungnir – rested against the arm of the sofa – and his face softened and lips turned downward into a frown. At any other time, Thor would have lightly punched him on the shoulder. The silence was awkward. Thor looked to Sif who nodded to Loki, while scrunching her eyes enough to quietly signal that he ought tend to the needs of his brother, but – before Thor could utter a word – Loki asked in a quiet voice:

“Now who coaxes the other into a fight?”

The leather creaked as Loki leaned back. He looked to Thor with narrowed eyes and paled cheeks, while his lip half-curled so reminiscent of his youth, and Thor winced to see a shimmer of tears barely blinked back, as Loki bit into his lip and swallowed hard. _Secrets_. It was impossible to know what, but Thor knew Loki’s tells too well, and already he clenched his hands on his legs in anticipation of whatever revelations lay ahead.

Thor looked to the throne on the dais, built as if it were specifically for Odin, and he saw the absence of their father so acutely that every muscle in his body tensed, as he pursed and played with his lips and struggled to still his racing heart. Every breath from Sif and move from Loki brought his hairs to stand on end, while his temples ached and mouth ran dry, and he struggled to slow his breath and remain still where he sat. The room was chilled. Thor shivered and hissed a loud exhale, as he glared to Loki and spat:

“Do not make me ask twice, Loki.”

Loki jumped to his feet, as he rounded on Thor. Gungnir was in his hand, while Thor growled in frustration and lifted his hand in turn to summon forth Mjölnir, but – as he opened wide his eyes and softened his mouth – nothing came to him. Realisation dawned. Loki laughed and pointed the tip of his staff as Thor’s chest, pushing him back when Thor tried to stand, and the very point rested above Thor’s heart as if to warn him. It took little strength to swat Gungnir away from his flesh, even as he glared to the brother who held the advantage.

“You have no powers,” said Loki.

“I will still fight you!”

“Aye, give me reason to throw you into the dungeons.” Loki folded his arms. “Father _always_ favoured you; even after what happened, he still sought to reconcile us despite my wishes, and yet here I am as the king he would never allow me to become. I will prove my worth. I will make _sure_ when he awakens that I have achieved all he cannot, whereas you -?”

“Thor will prove his worth,” argued Sif.

“He may, but he will never earn my forgiveness.”

“Is that the issue?” Sif asked. “To me it seems like _you_ cannot forgive yourself. How can you forgive others if you forever punish yourself for your mistakes? Apologise to Thor. Apologise to yourself. That is what the Allfather would want from you.”

“What do _you_ know about what the Allfather would want from me? I have spent my _life_ in another’s shadow, but you would have me step back into the darkness. Why? Is that where I belong? Am I the stuff of nightmares? No. Our father _never_ thought I would amount to anything more than a – a – a trinket . . . an ornament . . . a _trophy_. I will prove myself to be better than the Jotun, than Thor, than . . . than his expectations of me.”

The words cut deep. Thor slowly stood, with hands raised in a gesture of surrender, while he eyed Loki up and down in search of some tell, but there was nothing and that nothingness forced Thor to slump forward and shake his head. The accusations rallied against their father sounded far beyond mere sibling rivalry and a sense of inferiority, but Loki said nothing and simply gazed to Mjölnir with narrowed eyes and furrowed brows. Sif stood in turn, taking a space beside Thor, as she broke the silence and whispered pleadingly:

“Give Thor back his powers.”

Loki blanched and took a step back. He raised his head high, while ravens cawed upon the balcony beyond, and he cast his eyes between the two of them fleetingly and erratically, while the chill grew ever colder. Thor stepped toward him, only for a hand to be thrown out and for Gungnir to be clutched ever tighter by Loki’s side. Silence fell once more. Sif hissed and nostrils flared, as she folded her arms and cocked her head to the side.

“I cannot,” whispered Loki.

“You call yourself king,” said Sif. “You can.”

“My first command cannot be to undo the Allfather’s last. We are on the brink of war with Jotunheim, our messengers back and forth with great haste, and our people must have a sense of continuity in these difficult times. The enchantment is also . . . complex.”

“Loki, I ask you now as your brother,” pleaded Thor. “If you will seek to prove your worth, allow me to prove mine in turn. I am _nothing_ without my powers; I love you dearly, enough I would forgive you any slight, and even the rape – in time – I will forgive. I do not ask you to forgive me, not if you feel it too soon, but I ask you to let me redeem myself.”

“You seem sincere,” murmured Loki. “I almost believe you.”

“If you will believe in me, I will know it possible.”

Loki pursed his lips and knitted his brow, while he glared at the floor and shook his head, and soon – with long steps and quick movements – he marched towards the throne and threw himself on the cushioned seat, so that he looked down at them. Thor walked towards the steps of the dais, eyebrow quirked high as Loki spun Gungnir around in his hand, but stopped with one foot on the lowest step. Loki’s cold words chilled his blood:

“Why not prove your worth by bowing to your king?”

The insult was too much to bear. Thor roared until Sif winced and Loki smirked, until he tasted iron in the back of his throat and stopped only for breath, and – with reddened face and panting mouth – he glared at Loki and spat at the floor. The doors rattled, as if a guard strove to gain entry and thought better of such an action. Sif ran to his side and gently took his arm, but he pushed her away in his fury and stabbed at the air before his ever-smiling brother. Loki exaggerated mock-surprised, as he laughed at Thor’s displeasure.

“I will not bow to you,” growled Thor.

“I thought we were equals?”

“Aye,” spat Thor. “You would have me bow to my equal?”

Loki rolled his eyes and rested his chin on his hand. The smile he bore brought creases to the corners of his eyes, but those green eyes were half-narrowed and full of judgement, so that every glance to Thor chilled him to his core. Thor clenched his fists until veins bulged, as he climbed the steps of the dais – breaking all protocol – and stood inches from where Loki sat, glaring at him with a lip curled in disgust. Gungnir was held just within his reach, but he noted how tightly Loki gripped his only symbol of power.

“Still so arrogant,” snapped Loki. “Tell me, is this utter arrogance due to Sif’s presence? I wonder whether you seek to show off before a woman to which you feel a physical attraction, as you _certainly_ seemed interested when I took her form. Ah, but perhaps I say too much?”

“You a malicious man, Loki,” spat Thor. “You are too cruel.”

“Yes, perhaps, but I still bear bruises, Thor”

Thor closed his eyes. He turned away. The shame curled and coiled in his stomach, bringing an intense nausea that made him sway, and – as he loosened his fists, slumped his shoulders – he knew too well that his actions to Loki hurt not just his brother. He objectified Sif. He harmed someone dear to his parents. He proved himself not worthy of rule, leaving his people in the hands of someone no more worthy than himself. Thor’s heart raced. His blood ran cold.

Sif scoffed from behind him; he looked in her direction, unable to quite meet her eye, as memories of her assumed form filled his mind, and – even in his drunken and exhausted stupor – he remembered wanting her . . . touching her . . . _accepting her_. Sif widened her eyes, as she stepped back. Thor mouthed an apology, but it came too late, as her one supporter . . . the man who always saw her beyond her sex, beyond her appearance . . . lusted for her as any other woman. He swallowed hard, unable to talk. Sif walked away.

He watched her march with back straight and posture perfect, weapons poised at her sides as hands instinctively gripped at the hilts, and soon the doors opened and closed before her with a loud slam that brought a wince to Thor. They were alone. Thor spun around, as he looked down at Loki and shook his head with a curl of his lip, and Loki – apparently caught in equal shame and fear – observed him with a clinical detachment. Thor asked:   

“Do you wish for me to leave this realm?”

Loki rapidly blinked. He sat upright with perfect grace, before he chewed at his lip and narrowed his gaze, and – with a heavy sigh – he stood to his feet and locked eyes with Thor, only a few inches from him as familiarity overcame his bitterness. Thor stepped closer, until chests nearly touched and he was forced to lower his head to match Loki’s gaze, and he caught the scent of sweet foods . . . honey, vanilla, fruits . . . Thor smiled to realise that responsibility did little to dampen Loki’s sweet tooth. Loki asked in turn:

“You seek for exile?”

“No, but I will prove my worth,” promised Thor. “I will also earn your forgiveness. If you desire space and solitude, I shall give that to you, and – in the meantime – I shall traverse the realms and seek to find meaning outside of my powers. I see in you abilities that I lack, but I also see in your flaws that I share and do not like to see reflected back. I seek to change.”

“Thor, I –” Loki winced and shook his head. “Whatever you need, I shall see to it that you are well provided. I will not lie . . . I wish for you to leave, but I also do not wish to see harm come to you, and I will support you insofar as keeping you alive.”

“Ah, you love me,” teased Thor. “You can say it.”

Thor laughed and raised his hand. He jabbed at Loki’s forehead, leaving a tiny red mark that brought a grimace of pain and frustration, before – with a dangerous smirk – Loki lightly punched at Thor’s undefended stomach. It brought a smile to Thor’s lips, as he paused to collect himself and breathe through the pain, but soon he took Loki into a bear-hug and hoisted him high above the dais, until Loki – laughing through his panic – struck and kicked and demanded to be put back down. Thor dropped him, only to see Loki blush.

“I will prove my worth,” swore Thor breathlessly.

“I hope that you do,” said Loki. “I know that I will prove mine.”

“Loki, I swear to you that I shall learn to be a better tactician, like you and father, and I shall learn the patience of our mother.” Thor nodded deep to Loki. “I also see the rivalry and love in your eyes, even through the anger and pain, and thus I will bet you that I will stop this war with Jotunheim before it even has time to begin. Who knows? I may prove my worth while you sit here playing the part of a king. Mjölnir will be mine once more.”

“Oh? And what would you be willing to bet?”

“A day of servitude. It is what we bet as children, is it not? I will prove my worth, Loki, and I know you will prove yours in turn, but I _swear_ to you that you have nothing to prove, for you were always a good son and good future king. Father once said we were both born to be kings . . . I believed him. I still believe him. Do you believe him?”

“Once,” whispered Loki. “I do not know where things went wrong. I only know that I saw how he gravitated to you, training you to be like him, whereas I was left to Mother. I love her with all my heart, but all I ever wanted was for him to love me as I knew she loved me.”

“It is not enough for me to tell you that he does, is it?”

“No. I need to give him _reason_ to love me.”

Thor felt something in him break. He shot out a hand to Loki, wrapping long fingers around the back of his neck and entwining them in his hair, and pulled him close enough that he was able to press a chaste kiss to his forehead like in their youth. Loki was cold to the touch, barely holding back small shivers, but still he said nothing and simply hid something beyond self-doubt, as if he could no longer trust Thor. The scars of their shared rape ran deep.

He held Loki until a knock came at the door; Loki called out for the guards to wait, as he pulled away and wiped unshed tears from his eyes with a shuddered breath, and Thor – gnawing at his lip, swallowing back his pride – stepped down the dais and allowed Loki to tower over him once more. Loki returned to the throne with a sigh, sitting with a wince upon the cushions, as he threw a leg casually over the other and leaned his head on his hand, and Thor smiled to see him so casual and confident. He nodded to Loki with a smile.

“We may part for now,” said Thor, “but I will _always_ be by your side.”

Thor turned his back on Loki. Mjölnir sat centre of the room, where the inscription writ upon it reminded him of his duty to prove his worth, and – as he drew in a deep breath – he marched by it and strove not to let his gaze linger. He tightened his fists and clenched his jaw, while his heart raced and blood ran cold, and yet one small sigh left by Loki stopped him in his tracks, as he paused with hand on the door handle to finally leave:

“I believe,” said Loki, “one day I shall forgive you.”

Thor smiled and looked to Loki, as he said:

“I look forward to that day.”

 

 


	12. Chapter 12

Frigga knocked at the doorframe.

Fandral jumped where he reclined; he sat immediately into an upright position, with back straight and eyes focussed, and there was a flush to his cheeks that spoke of embarrassment, which indicated some inappropriate joke that was considered vulgar to a queen’s ears. He even scratched at his bearded chin, as long fingers strove to hide the twitch to his lips, and Frigga – as she chuckled to herself – wondered if they forgot she once was young in turn.

The memories of Odin’s celebratory feasts sprang to mind, where – after long hunts – he would joke and tease and tell far-fetched tales to men that hung on every word, while Frigga listened from the side with barely concealed amusement. It was a mood often contrasted with many apologies behind closed doors, until Frigga would laugh and put a finger to his lips, before pleading to hear what became of the maiden who lost her maidenhead to the blacksmith’s betrothed. Odin would always oblige with sordid details.

Indeed, Sif sat with her body angled to Fandral. Sif did not blush, but she did look towards Frigga without quite making her eyes, and her lowered head spoke of a barely concealed shame, as her booted feet still sat with their points toward Fandral. The small room was otherwise empty, save for a few boxes that stored some unneeded objects for winter months or for the servants ease, and they looked almost cosy on an old bench. Frigga asked:

“May I enter?”

Sif smiled and moved closer to Fandral, until knees touched just slightly, and Frigga – as she pretended not to notice the small intimacy – nodded to them in acknowledgement of the small gesture, noting how the L-shaped bench now allowed for another person. There was a thin layer of dust over the wood, while the narrow window only allowed in a sliver of light, and yet the room was comfortable as it was enclosed. A small stack of books sat on one box, while a platter of food scraps sat on a stray chair. It spoke of a ‘den’ or ‘hideout’.

“Of course, your majesty,” said Sif.

Frigga entered the room, before taking a seat on the bench. There were scratches on the wall beside her, which served as a marker to Thor’s first hunt, while a scorch mark still bore a black scar on the ceiling from a spell of Loki’s gone terribly wrong, and the sound of servants in a nearby kitchen echoed through the thick walls into the room. Frigga caught the scent of freshly baked bread, along with simmering meats, and momentarily closed her eyes.

They remained in an awkward silence. Sif unused to speaking with Frigga with men present, while Fandral’s constant ‘subtle’ glances to Sif made clear his desire for them to be alone, and Frigga fought back the urge to laugh, as she rubbed at her mouth. The air was hot and humid, enough to bring an awkward sweat to her skin, while somewhere in the distance a song was played so familiar that it was easy to lose oneself, and Frigga realised that she was intruding on something potentially serious. Frigga asked in a quiet voice:

“Loki and Volstagg were here?”

“Oh, that was many hours ago,” complained Fandral. “They left their belongings here for _us_ to clean up, of course, but it’s not as though one can complain about their king, is it? Volstagg left not long after with Hogun; something about wanting to check in with Heimdall, but I daren’t hazard a guess as to what _that_ was about, but I do have suspicions.”

“Loki was only here for a brief few seconds,” added Sif. “I will not deny that it was most awkward, enough that – after nothing but silence – he made his excuses to leave. The others were guilty, but I could not bring myself to feel such guilt. Not after what happened.”

“Ah, yes, I am aware of his confession,” said Frigga.

Sif nodded, but kept silent. Frigga noticed how her lips pursed, while her skin flushed red, and lines appeared about her brow that aged her beyond her youth, enough that Frigga reached out to place a hand on her knee. It was a gentle touch, which led to Sif relaxing her muscles and loosening her stance, but her hands remained clasped tight by her sides, with her jaw tense enough that it appeared painful. Frigga squeezed and patted her knee, before she removed her hand and half-closed her eyes as she looked to Sif and said:

“Loki was wrong to take your form.”

“If I am honest?” Sif asked in a quiet voice. “I suspected that it was my form that Loki used, but I held no real offence aside from irritation and mild disgust. It was the fact that _Thor –_ my friend who believed in me when none else would – showed desire for that form, even as he claimed to see me as no more than a friend. _That_ was the betrayal.”

“So he lusts for you,” chirped Fandral. “Surely it’s a compliment?”

“Nay, it is _not_ ,” spat Sif. “You have not lived your life with choices pre-determined by your gender, always told that you could never be anything more than the sum of your parts, and – in your quest to prove your worth – dealt with harassment and mockery known to no other. Many often sought to sabotage me at every turn. Thor never flirted with me or tried to ‘put me in my place’, but supported me and helped me and defended me.

“Even if I could defend myself, he would still speak up for me. It was not that of a man defending a woman he felt to be weak, but a friend striving to protect the honour of an equal to which he swore an oath to always protect. It is hard to reconcile how he would lust for my body with the man I thought I knew. It is hard to endure such objectification.”

“Yes, but he never objectified you in _reality_ , did he?” Fandral rolled his eyes. “If I am to be held personally accountable for every fantasy I’ve had of every woman -? Why, I ought to be exiled from our realm and imprisoned upon the spot! Thoughts do not equal actions.”

“Aye, but thoughts are a part of the person. They help to define us.”

“So you would never want a man to _want_ you?”

Frigga raised her hand to silence both. The rage of Sif was easily understood; Frigga’s lessons in self-defence were often self-taught, with her elders claiming guards would always be there to keep her safe, and great emphasis was put on looking the part of a queen, as opposed to playing the part of a ruler. Even in her twilight years, she remembered well the shock and admiration Odin displayed when she first spoke her mind and offered advice.

It was an experience alien to Fandral, whose brow was knitted and lips pursed, and – as he leaned back on the rough brick wall – Frigga caught an eye roll that Sif appeared to miss, as her eyes stared forward and her arms came to cross over her chest. The previous jovial atmosphere was long gone, enough that Frigga was forced to hold back a smile at the memory of her first fight with Odin, and she noted well how the two still angled their bodies towards one another, stealing glances when the other looked away. Frigga asked:

“Perhaps this is a debate best held in my absence?”

A blush covered both sets of cheeks. Sif bowed her head in apology, while Fandral uttered a nervous laugh and gesticulated with wild movements, and – as servants whisked past the main door with barely a glance – Frigga swallowed hard. A ticking clock echoed loud from the hallway, marking off time and reminding her of the absence of her son’s, while she raised a hand to her chest and clasped on the hem of her dress. The touch of the soft fabric provided a momentary distraction, as she admitted in a quiet voice:

“I actually came to ask where my sons have hidden themselves.”

“I haven’t seen Thor since yesterday,” admitted Fandral. “We waited for him outside the private chambers, but he departed with nary a word to his rooms. Hogun thought it best to give him space, so we’ve passed time amongst ourselves, which has been quite a bore.”

“Loki left to research some matter in the library,” added Sif.

“Ah, something about enchantments, I believe.”

Frigga stood. The room grew oppressive with that innocent statement, enough that her dress felt tight and stifled her breath, and she grew light-headed to realise that her sons were not where they were assumed. Frigga held her hand on her chest, as she breathed slow and deep and looked once more to the open doorway, where trays of food were taken back and forth, as the servants went about their usual duties. A cool breeze blew through the window, which ruffled her hair and brought a shiver to her body, as she shook her head.

“I just came from the library,” whispered Frigga.

Sif stood in turn, a look of concern spread about her face. The skin paled on her cheeks, before realisation dawned and she looked to Fandral with a narrowed gaze, and – as his smile faded – his mouth opened wide into an ‘O’ shape, as he finally found himself lost for words. It did not need to be said that Thor was not in his rooms, for Frigga always checked the rooms of her children any time she sought to find them. Fandral uttered a whispered:

“Is it an important matter?”

“Very,” said Frigga. “I would _never_ seek to leave my husband’s side at any other time, but I have asked his dear friends to watch over him, so he is not alone and will not awaken to strange faces, but . . . there is an issue with Loki’s health. It is not serious, so do not fret, but I must talk to both my sons together about the irregularity. They must know.”

“I know Thor has talked about proving his worth,” admitted Sif. “He sought to travel the realms in order to learn more about diplomacy and hone his skills, but I cannot see him having left before alerting his friends to his departure. He must still be here.”

“Well, that’s easily uncovered,” said Fandral. “Let’s ask Heimdall.”

“There’s no need for that,” called a new voice.

Frigga looked to the doorway. Volstagg and Hogun stood before her, as they bowed deep and remained low until she signalled for them to relax, and yet – as her eyes moved over them – she caught the fear writ across the features of Volstagg. He appeared solemn and stern, eyes locked on hers with a shimmer on them, and there was a flush to his cheeks that spoke of some problem he dared not say aloud. Frigga stepped toward them. Hogun cast his gaze away, but spoke in a slow and steady voice directed to her alone:

“Heimdall is unable to see Loki.”

The implications did not need to be stated. It was clear Loki would not only hide something to which he did not wish to be seen, but that left only activities dangerous to the crown or dangerous to himself, and neither of which filled Frigga with relief. Frigga clutched at her chest, as she took an unsteady step back, and rapidly shook her head with a shuddered breath, while Fandral climbed to his feet and stood beside Sif. Frigga swallowed hard.

“I see,” said Frigga. “My son has hidden himself yet again?”

“I’m afraid there’s worse news to come,” admitted Volstagg. “We asked Heimdall for Thor’s whereabouts, but it seems he has travelled alone to Jotunheim. A guard was sent to alert Loki to the matter, but – well – we have yet to be able to find where he hides.”

“Leave the matter to me alone. Speak of this to no one.”

“My lady, Thor could be in danger and Loki is –”

Frigga raised a warning hand. Volstagg said nothing, but Hogun raised an eyebrow and looked questioningly to her, as if in doubt of her intentions. The hustle-and-bustle of the servants increased, until it grew difficult to separate the sighs of Fandral from those of the busy staff that passed by, and soon their privacy would be most compromised. Frigga stepped towards the doors, where Volstagg and Hogun stood aside, and raised her head high while her heart pounded within her ears. It took all her strength to keep her voice steady:

“I will deal with this matter.”


	13. Chapter 13

Thor was surrounded.

He stood on the edge of the enclosed city, where the snow crunched underfoot and the air misted before his breath, and – as he clenched his fists – counted the Jotun that circled him like a wounded Bilgesnipe caught in a trap. _Five_. There were five that watched him, each with weapon in hand and teeth bared in silent threat, but even in his weakened state he was half-sure he could take them out if needed. The concern was that more hid in the darkness.

The icy and mountainous walls around the city concealed many nooks and crannies, with vague memories of history lessons springing to mind, and he remembered how the Jotun carved tunnels deep underground and through those mountains, so that they could overwhelm their enemies and retreat unseen beyond the reach of mere men. The sky above was murky and almost black, adding to the shadows that the Jotun cast, and Thor thus clasped his hand around the hilt of his sword, while heart raced and his skin ached with a needle-like pain.

He could not bear the climate for much longer. The heavy cape only weighed him down, but did little to stop the iciness from penetrating his armour and layers, and his bearded face failed to protect him, as his lips grew numb and the harsh winds stung his eyes. He stood tall. _Proud_.  Thor drew in a deep breath to expand his chest, before slowly letting go of his sword and raising his hands high in the air, while he turned to face the leader of the group.

“I am Thor Odinson of Asgard,” called Thor. “I seek audience with King Laufey.”

The Jotuns fanned out, aside from their leader. He listened as they moved behind him, lining up in a strict formation, and – as his hand twitched for Mjölnir – he cursed to find himself without Loki’s talent for conjuring mists or creating doubles of themselves. Thor bit his lip. It would not be a battle won easily by strength alone, but one that would require strategy and skill beyond his abilities, and he cursed his alienation of his father and friends.

He looked the leader in the eye. It craned his neck to gaze at the tall figure, while exposing his neck and making him look more vulnerable than confident, and the leader – with a smirk and scoff – rolled his eyes and walked to his side, where they faced different directions and no longer held good gaze of one another. Thor recognised the intimidation tactics, but realised he could not strike his man out of offence. It took all his self-control to lower his hands and refrain from grabbing the hilt of his sword, as the leader spat out:

“What is your business?”

“My business is to negotiate and prevent war,” declared Thor. “I seek to know your demands, as well as to attempt a compromise. My brother sits upon the throne of Asgard, and I -?” Thor smiled and shrugged in a childish manner. “I would seek to bring peace before him.”

“An immature motive for such life-changing actions.”

“Perhaps, but let’s let Laufey decide, yes?”

Thor swallowed back his nervousness. He turned his head just enough to stare down the Jotun in his peripheral vision, as he listened to his heart race in his ears, and the smile on his lips strained and very nearly trembled, as the cold air burned at his throat. Silence. The Jotun said not one word, until his nostrils flared and he kicked hard at the snow underfoot, and – with a deep growl – spun around and knelt down into Thor’s space. He was but a hair’s width away, so that foul breath struck Thor’s lips, as he uttered in a cold voice:

“This way, Prince Thor.”

The leader marched toward a great arch etched out of the mountain. Thor lingered until a hand shoved him from behind, but – as he halfway unsheathed his sword – the Jotuns behind him laughed and used their skill over ice to form blades in turn over their hands. They yearned for battle, but were unwilling to make the first move. Thor drew in a deep breath and narrowed his eyes, as he pursed his lips and clenched his fists until blood was drawn.

He followed the leader once more, until he was led through to what appeared to be an open courtyard, although one enclosed on all sides by high arched walls. Thor noted the openings and seats in each sectioned upper level. He was led centre of the courtyard, while further guards stood around the lower perimeter and various Jotun filtered out onto the upper floors, and – as his stomach sank and muscles tensed – he knew he was outnumbered. Heimdall would not save him under such conditions. Thor let out a shuddered breath.

_‘You have come a long way from home, young prince.’_

The strange voice was deep and low. It came directly before him, cast from the top level, and – sat on a throne of ice – Thor witnessed Laufey with head on hand and foot rested on his knee, sat so casually that it barely spoke of a regal audience. He sat clad in just a cloth about his waist, almost naked like so many of his people, while his red eyes burrowed down holes at Thor, as his lips curled and head cocked to the side. Thor stepped forward, as he strove for a closer look upon the royal Jotun. He looked familiar.

It was warmed in the courtyard; the round space was built up with high walls, while the ice that formed a great deal of the structure acted as insulation, and – while every breath still came out as a small fog – Thor was finally able to feel toes and fingers. He licked at his lips and cricked his neck, while he forced a smile and strove to hide the increasing nervousness that sank into his bones. This was a claustrophobic place. Laufey asked:

“Does the Allfather know that you are here?”

“Odin Borson is unable to attend his duties,” murmured Thor. “Loki Odinson has assumed the throne in his place, and I am here – unofficially – as his emissary and ambassador to seek further reassurance that our peace treaties shall not be broken. I ask that you relay to me the conditions of your terms, so I may find compromise where possible.”

“Hmm, is this your first diplomatic mission, boy?” Laufey smirked. “The Allfather must sleep soundly knowing you are here to play at the role of a man. You should leave while you still have a chance; you know not what failed words could bring . . . I do.”

“You will not entertain me? Do you seek for war?”

“Do you?” Laufey spat.

Thor clenched his hands into fists. A drop of blood fell from his palm, staining the ice by his foot, and he looked down to see the red dot spread out, ever growing as it was absorbed and consumed by the snow. He shook through the anger and cold, locking eyes with Laufey who quirked an eyebrow at him. Laufey no longer smirked. Time slowed. Laufey looked down with an impassive expression, his eyes half-lidded, and let out a long sigh of breath, that had Thor gritting his teeth and moving from foot to foot. Thor couldn’t help but ask:

“Why now, Laufey?”

Laufey leaned forward in his throne; he dropped his forearms onto his legs, which remained parted even as he quirked an eyebrow with lips pursed into a thin line, and – as he watched Thor – there returned that eerie familiarity that he couldn’t quite place. The guards around the perimeter stood straight and on full alert, leading Thor to step back and lower his hands some distance apart from his sides, lest they believe him going for his sword. Laufey asked:

“What did the Allfather tell you, child?”

“That you sought to break the terms of our truce,” admitted Thor. “He came to you for routine talks, but you refused to remain civil and demanded the return of your treasure. I can understand that desire. I have been stripped of my powers, had my greatest possession stolen from me, and I _know_ what it means to be helpless and left incomplete, but –”

“You know nothing.” Laufey growled low in his throat. “The Casket was not our greatest treasure, Thor Odinson. We mourn its loss, just as we would demand its return, but there was something greater taken from us on that day so long ago. We lost a son.”

“A son?” Thor scoffed. “What son was lost to you?”

“A babe we hid within a temple. Fárbauti was once our wife; she bore forth two healthy and strong Jotun sons, which stand in this very audience chamber as my heirs, but she died bearing the third. There was only time to bestow upon him a name. I left that child in the one place exempt from the rules of war . . . a sanctuary in which he would be protected. . .

“You do not know the hell your father once raised. You do not know the blood spilled. The rivers would run with blood, all so he could build his treasury and solidify his power, and soon all feared to cross paths with a man whose men would pillage, loot, and rape all those who stood in his way. Your father was a monster. He entered our sacred temple and stole forth our son, so that he could raise him as a bride for his boy. He stole our heir. Our blood.”

“Your accusations are false! My father is a good and kind man.”

“Your father is a warmonger and a thief,” chided Laufey.

Thor made for his sword. Weapons were drawn; each and every Jotun stepped forward, stopped only by the raised hand of Laufey, and – as Thor curled his lip, panting for breath – he pulled his hand back and fisted his hand. The only sound was the racing of his heart, while a cool sweat broke over his skin and clung to his armour. He fixated on Laufey and his lies, unable to tear his gaze anywhere else, until Laufey stood and rested his hands on the ice-craved railing before him. Laufey looked every bit a king. Laufey said with a snarl:

“You suspect what I am about to reveal.”

“I suspect nothing,” lied Thor.

 _Lies upon lies_. Thor knew the stories of the Jotun well, but he also knew Laufey’s voice never once wavered . . . no hesitation, no change of pitch, no emotion . . . he looked to Thor with something akin to pity, an emotion which Thor thought the Jotuns incapable. Thor swallowed hard. He closed his eyes, as nostrils flared and he hissed in breath, and opened them to see how the shadows played on Laufey’s face and his cheekbones . . . his mannerisms . . . his facial features. A wave of nausea overcame Thor as Loki confessed:

“That child was Loki Laufeyson.”

The words weighed upon him.

Thor stumbled back a step. He looked with wide eyes and pale skin, as Laufey stared him down with no hint of emotion or any sign of a lie, and Thor let his mouth fall open, even as he shook his head and tried to reconcile the lies with the truth. It reshaped his entire reality. It changed his complete identity. The world around him was irrevocably changed, as his life became but a lie and the harsh reality was that his parents lied to him. They lied.

He opened and closed his mouth in rapid succession . . . _‘respect your brother’, ‘we are family and that is an undeniable truth’, ‘do not question that your brother adores you’ . . ._ he remembered too well pranks played, lessons learned, and one simple fact: they were family. Thor grew lightheaded. The urge to run and the urge to strike fought in equal measure, but – as he glared to Laufey and growled low in his throat – he realised the truth hurt far less than he imagined. The greatest insult came from a name thrown carelessly from Laufey’s lips.

_Laufeyson._

It galled him beyond measure. Thor listened to the drip of blood, as his nails drove into his palm and his knuckles turned white, and the sword at his side grew heavier, every closer to his fist as he took the handle in hand and held with a bloody grip. He panted for breath and took several steps toward Laufey. Thor craned his head upward, before he spat at the ice below and withdrew his sword to point it in warning at the Jotun king, and – barely able to speak in more than a whisper, he spat out in a low and cold voice:

“Loki is my brother.”

“There are many traitors in the house of Odin,” teased Laufey.

“You would call my brother a traitor?” Thor used all his strength to lower his sword. “I was raised alongside him. I fought with him. I studied with him. I defended him when none else would. I _know_ my brother in every sense; he is no more a traitor than I, Laufey!”

“Why do you not ask your guards where he goes?” Laufey smiled and drummed his fingers. “Do you think the Bifrost the only way to your realm? The only way out? No. There are secret paths between our words to which we are blind, but Loki has uncovered these paths and uses them to his advantage. Look to your left, Thor Odinson. Do you see the footsteps of your predecessor? Loki was here before you. He knows of his heritage, although that is all.”

“That is all? Is that not enough? I know that Loki has ways to remain hidden, but he is loyal to our father and loyal to the crown. How long have you known Loki to be your blood? A day? A week? A year? I have known Loki _my whole life_! I know he would not abuse the skills he has learned or the talents he has achieved. He is not a monster like you.”

“He is more like us than you realise,” said Laufey.

Thor looked over the snow. He saw the footprints that bore the mark of leather boots, ones borne from Asgardian fashion and that were an Asgardian size, and he noticed how still they stood – no wavering, no pacing, and no kicking at the snow – and he saw how calm their owner waited for an audience with the Jotun ruler. Doubt seized him. It boiled in his lower stomach, aching and searing him, until the pain brought a growl to his lips and bowed his head in thought. He screwed shut his eyes and struggled to process events. Laufey uttered:

“He needs us more than you know.”

“He needs only his family,” spat Thor.

“There are conditions unique to our people,” explained Laufey. “It is something Loki will come to understand in time, should he not be told by the family that claim to ‘love’ him, and on that day he will require the knowledge of his kind to guide him to safety. Do you truly think yourself his family? His blood? No. He sought to undermine you at every turn.”

“He supported me and loved me without exception.”

“Loki came to us. He came long before he knew of our connection. He taught a handful of my men the way into your realm and gave us the date of your coronation, with the understanding that the Vault would be less heavily guarded. Loki sought for ‘mischief’, but he also sought to delay your coronation and the Casket was our reward for such ‘help’. I know not what prevented your coronation, Thor Odinson, but I know what was once offered.

“Do not think yourself so knowing of a stranger. Loki still comes to us and he will betray you, which means this can only end in one of two ways: civil war or war between realms. Will you fight against the sibling you claim to so love, thus leaving yourselves vulnerable for our attack, or will you try to pre-empt us with an attack that shall force us to defend ourselves?”

“How does Loki seek to betray us? What can he ask that you can provide?”

“Ah, now I do believe that would be ‘telling’ as you say.”

Thor pulled back his lips and bared his teeth. He pointed a hand toward Laufey, as he jabbed at the air and took several steps forward, while he shook his head and strove to hold back a furious laugh that threatened to spill from his throat. The guards about the room aimed their weapons at him, even as he grabbed his sword from its hilt and twirled it with great expertise, and – remembering his place – rammed it into the snow before him. It was easy to grab in case of battle, but just enough out of reach to cease to be a threat. Thor spat in a cold voice:

“You are a liar, Laufey.”

The change was instantaneous. Laufey hardened his face, as he pulled back from the railing, and his hands fell to his side while his head was lifted high. He flared his nostrils and narrowed his eyes, as he looked Thor up and down. The air grew cold. Thor pulled his sword from the snow, as he bit the inside of his lip until he tasted iron, but Laufey said nothing and simply stepped back with a growl low and deep in the back of his throat.

Laufey raised a hand and the guards converged upon Thor. They encircled him with weapons out in warning, while the leader from before stood before him and gestured for him to turn around, and – with a long pause of hesitation – Thor obeyed the command. If he did little to incite their wrath, they would lead him to a secluded place in which Heimdall could take him back to the safety of their realm. He listened as Laufey retreated from his space on the upper levels, but gritted his teeth when the Jotun ruler observed in an indifferent tone:

“I believe it is time you left, Odinson.”

The guards pushed Thor forward, as they marched him out of the audience chamber, and – as they walked – Laufey’s words reverberated around Thor’s skull: _Loki Laufeyson_. It was an insult beyond all measure, one in which he may have not let lie had he the power of Mjölnir, and that realisation alone chilled his bones, for it would have been an invitation to war. He listened to the snow crunch underfoot, as the air grew colder and colder. The mountains soon came back into view, along with the great expanses of desolate wasteland.

_Laufeyson . . . Laufeyson . . . Laufeyson . . ._

It was true Loki looked too much like Fárbauti, but everything about him _screamed_ ‘Odinson’, down to his facial expressions and mannerisms. He often spoke the exact phrases of their father, even with the same vocal quirks, and it was impossible to see how any other could lay claim to him. Thor barely noticed as the Jotun guards stopped. He only noticed when he stood in the marks left by Heimdall and found himself alone. Thor turned and saw that the Jotun kept their distance, waiting for him to leave, even as the leader glared at him.

“Run on home, _Princess_ ,” spat the Jotun.

Thor clenched his fist. He bit into his tongue. There was a rush of blood, as his heart raced and his arms shook, and yet – through his rage – he knew that Loki needed him more than his ego needed a cathartic release, while any attack would be an invitation for war. He screwed shut his eyes and panted for breath. Heimdall’s name was called to the heavens, as light enveloped him and surrounded him with that familiar warmth. The adrenaline rush lingered, even as the insult went unpunished, and rage threatened to consume him.

He barely noticed as the world opened before him. Heimdall stood in full armour with an emotionless stare, hands on his sword and a stream of light from the setting sun behind him, and – as Thor raised a hand to shield his eyes – the warmth of his land provided comfort. It warmed his skin and defrosted the ice on his armour, as his cape fell flat away from the harsh breeze. Thor breathed deep fresh and clean air. He allowed his muscle to relax.

“Your mother wishes an audience with you,” said Heimdall.

“Tell her I am sorry, but that it must wait.”

Thor marched toward the bridge; he kept a quick pace, no mind given to the long walk without steed to hasten the journey, and – as the sound of rushing waters provided small comfort – looked to the palace and focussed on the royal balconies. It was too far to see whether Loki stood watch, perhaps paying mind to who came and go via the Bifrost, but somehow he sensed eyes on him. A wave of nausea threatened to consume him, as he feared that Loki would fear him in turn now they both knew the truth.

Thor would confront his brother.   

 

 

 

 


	14. Chapter 14

Darkness.

Thor blinked as his eyes struggled to adjust. The bedroom was deprived of all light, with not a single fire or candle was lit, and yet long shadows were cast from the balcony, as starlight and moonlight streamed through the open archway etched into stone. Loki stood alone. He rested long fingers on the marble banister, while the breeze caught at his black locks and moved his hair in an odd rhythm, and kept his head high as he gazed over the landscape.

He dressed only in rough pyjamas; Thor winced and looked away, as his eyes fell on the torn dressing-gown thrown haphazardly across a nearby sofa, and he swallowed hard the lump that formed within his throat. A few books were strewn over the furs on the bed, along with various plates of half-eaten food and pieces of parchment, and – as Thor let out a shuddered breath – he wondered how long since Loki last slept. The bedroom looked more like an office, a place to work and no longer to relax. The realisation cut deep.

Thor stepped into the room. The soles of his boot crunched against broken glass, which drew a closer look at the debris and litter. Thor bit into his lip; it was difficult to comprehend how Loki could continue to live in a state of stasis, with his personal space no different to the night of the rape, and Thor thought to his room . . . furs changed, sheets changed, _bed_ changed . . . he was desperate to move on, while Loki was trapped in the past. Thor teased:

“Is this mess an insight into your mind?”

Loki said nothing, even as Thor navigated the darkness toward him. He kicked at an upturned basin, while the floor beneath squelched underfoot, and – with a grimace – he tried not to linger on the fear the water signified a new breakdown. He continued onward; the room was quiet in the darkness, with all others in the palace long since asleep, while even the world before them appeared still and silent and slept through the late hours. Thor stopped just beside Loki, as he rested on the banister and leaned forward. Loki said nothing.

Thor kept his eyes aimed ahead. He kept quiet in turn, as he knew the heavy armour was similar to that he wore on the night of the rape, but the heavy cape and winter attire helped to hide the similarities and strove to separate the two outfits. The breeze ruffled his cape, while he clasped his hands before him and listened to Loki’s slow breaths, and he smiled to see small puffs of steam with each exhale. Loki lowered his head and whispered:

“How did you know I would be here?”

There was a tremble to his voice. A closer look to his face revealed flushed cheeks and bloodshot eyes, which was enough for Thor to look away and feign ignorance, and – when Loki sniffed – his hands tightened into fists, while he scrunched closed his eyes and fought the urge to throw his arms around his brother. Thor swallowed back his concern, even as his heart raced and his body angled toward Loki, and – fighting back tears in turn – licked at his lips and let out a shuddered breath. He said in a quiet voice:

“I know you, Loki.”

“No, you don’t,” spat Loki. “You know nothing.”

“I know you kept your gown as a morbid reminder.” Thor stepped closer toward him. “I know that I failed you, just as you failed me, and I should have seen how much you suffered and strove harder to make amends. If I had done more to reassure you that we are still brothers, perhaps you would not have hidden from me such secrets.”

Loki turned and faced him, even as he wrapped his arms around his chest. It was defensive. It placed one more boundary between them. Loki kept his head low, while his loose locks fell wildly about his face in thick curls, and Thor smiled as he reached out to push a stray lock back behind his ear, his muscle dropping in relief as Loki did not stop him. The hair was greasy in nature, enough so that Loki had been neglecting his health, but Thor said nothing and continued to stand but an inch from Loki, who looked to him with green eyes.

“Mother looks for us,” admitted Loki.

“Aye, I know.”

“The servants told me that you avoided her.” Loki half-closed his eyes. “I cannot blame you, as I have done all that I can to avoid her in turn, but – come morning – she will send word and we will be forced to hold audience with her. Heimdall revealed that you left for Jotunheim; you worried her to her very core, for she fears you now know the truth.”

“Volstagg met me at the doors to the palace,” admitted Thor. “He claims Mother would have us immediately go to her on my return, so that she would have important words with us, while Hogun – by his side – said your orders contradicted that of Mother.”

“Really? I remember not what I said.”

“You said that Mother was to be left to rest, as you would not have that ‘great oaf’ awaken her for something that was likely nothing, and demanded that I be allowed free movement about the palace. You knew I was coming, didn’t you? You saw the Bifrost from your rooms. You sent Hogun to pre-empt Volstagg’s commands. Did you want me here?”

Loki scoffed. He curled his lip and threw himself back on the banister, while Thor hissed a long exhale of breath and leant beside him. The soft touch of Loki’s arm against him provided small warmth, while the pressure provided a small comfort, and Thor breathed deep and strove to remain calm as Loki drummed his fingers on the marble. The rhythmic tapping interrupted the silence, echoing about in Thor’s hearing, and Loki – with a shuddered breath and a large spin – turned to face Thor and jabbed at his chest.

“I did not _want_ you here,” muttered Loki. “You _came_ here.”

A sound came from nearby. The balcony adjacent let loose a small slap, as if of a slipper upon tile, and Thor – with a roll of his eyes – grabbed Loki firmly by his upper arm and dragged him into the bedroom proper, before he threw him against the sofa. Loki caught himself on the back, clutching with hands so tight that knuckles grew white, while his face paled and tears threatened to overspill from soft eyes. Thor stormed before him, until their chests touched and no space lay between them, as he said in a calm and steady voice:

“You knew I would confront you.”

“Then confront me,” snapped Loki. “Out me! Fight me! Beat me! Rape me! _Kill me_! Just do it soon, as I cannot _endure_ another moment of this torture! Laufey must have told you what monster lies beneath this mask of ‘brother’. He – He must have told you that I’m of Jotun blood. Why make me wait for your wrath? Why not disown me now . . . be done with it?”

“Is this why you hide? You assume I seek to destroy you?”

“I’m surprised you aren’t here with your friends in tow, ready to cast me out into the cold depths of Jotunheim to fend for myself! Why not? It’s what I would have done. It – It’s _in me_ , Thor, this – this – this _monstrous nature_. I – I – I cannot – I cannot undo –”

Thor threw his arms around Loki. The embrace was one that caused his heart to race, as too many memories came to mind where Loki would trick him with such vulnerability . . . daggers to the side, blows to the body . . . it was not unusual for Loki to seek for the upper hand, but this time was different. This time was too much like the times alone when Loki would crawl into his bed at night and weep, revealing secrets that Thor never suspected, and like the times when he would sequester himself with their mother in deep depressions.

Loki wept. _He wept._ The tears soaked through Thor’s undershirt, as Loki buried his head into the crook of Thor’s neck, and his body was wracked with sobs that forced Thor to support his weight with muscled arms. Thor screwed shut his eyes, as he fought back tears and listened to the choked breaths and heavy pants. He rested one hand on Loki’s back, while the other buried itself into Loki’s hair, and in a low voice he whispered to Loki:

“You are no monster.”

Loki scoffed, as he pulled back and wiped at his eyes. He leaned back against the sofa, half-sitting and half-standing, as he visibly swallowed and sought to stop his trembling lip, and – for one terrifying moment – Thor was grateful that their father slept. If Odin were awake, it would only take one misplaced word to push Loki over the edge. Thor saw the dagger sheathed by his side, even despite his nightwear, along with the hint of a red line on pale flesh underneath his sleeve. A part of Thor was relieved: _his blood still ran red_. Loki asked:

“Do you not remember what he taught us?”

“Aye,” said Thor. “He was wrong.”

“Wrong? _Wrong?_ I – I know what monsters they are, Thor! I look to Laufey and I see a man who stole away an Asgardian princess, who waged war on multiple realms, who abandoned a worthless son to die in some deserted temple! Am I to become him? How long until I betray you? How long until I become what the Allfather fears? If I could just wipe them out –”

“Like you would wipe out this part of yourself?” Thor shook his head. “No, Loki. The Jotun are neither good nor bad, but just a people like any other. Our Father’s version of events is not the only version to be told, just like you are more than just the sum of your parts. You are the arrogant and manipulative trickster, but you are also the silver-tongued and handsome prince whose loyalty and intelligence outshine all others. You are my brother.”

“I am _not_ your brother!” Loki paused with a wince. “I never was.”

Thor took Loki by the neck. He threaded his fingers through black hair, resting his thumb on that sharp jawbone, and leaned into Loki’s space until foreheads touched on one another, while breath mingled and Loki’s cries slowly softened. The skin was still warm beneath his hand, while he let out a shuddered breath and allowed a tear to fall despite his need to be strong for Loki. They stayed locked together, as Loki raised his hands to grip on Thor’s shoulders and held tight to the red and furred fabric with all his strength.

“You are my brother,” said Thor.

“F-Father – Father took me – took me to be a trophy, a spouse, a –”

“Whatever his purpose, you are now a prince.” Thor smiled through his tears. “You may never be more than my brother, but you will never be _less_ than my brother. I came to you before Mother for one reason alone, so that I could tell you but one thing: you are my brother. So you are adopted, that matters not! At least they _chose_ you, aye?”

Thor winked with a smile. Loki erupted into laughter, enough that he pulled back to catch his breath, and – as Thor allowed his hand to linger on his neck – it seemed that no tragedy had occurred between them. He almost had his brother back. Thor laughed alongside Loki and pulled his hand back, as he threw himself onto the sofa and reclined with exaggerated ease, while he patted a cushion beside him. It drew a scoff from Loki, who rolled his eyes with a smile and sat at the foot of the sofa, as he lifted Thor’s feet onto his lap.

He nudged at Loki’s chest and spread his arms in expectation. Thor smirked and winked, as he continued to nudge at Loki, until Loki scoffed in frustration and slapped at his calf, but – instead of pushing Thor away – he simply worked at his boots and removed them. There were muttered complaints about the smell and sweat, but Loki massaged at Thor’s feet with enough skill that Thor sighed and closed his eyes. He nearly missed as Loki asked:

“You plaited your hair?”

Thor opened his eyes. Loki stared just to his left side, where a small plait of hair fell, and Thor – half-raising his hand to check on it – smiled and shrugged. Loki sighed, even as he sniffed and blinked away tears. A comfortable silence descended. Thor threw back his head on the many pillows; he looked up at the ceiling and relished in the small intimacy, and for a moment he almost forgot the rape. The memory caused his muscles to tense, enough that Loki muttered a complaint and kneaded harder, and Thor reached up to touch upon the plait.

“I asked Volstagg to do so,” admitted Thor.

“Is that not a fashion to pay respect to one’s beloved?”

“I knew that you would tease!” Thor laughed and shook his head. “I wanted to show my devotion to you, Loki. You are my priority in all concerns; you are my brother, who I love and adore, and I thought it would best express my loyalty. Two strands entwined, yes?”

“Why, Thor?” Loki batted his eyelashes. “People will say we’re in love.”

“Can you ever be serious?” Thor said through laughter.

He kicked at Loki, who pinched at the muscle above his ankle. Thor swore and stopped his laughter, as he reached down to rub at the bruise, but Loki – with a smile through his tears – slapped at his leg and massaged at the injured spot. It was easy to forget so much bad blood, but hard to forget the ice cold of Jotunheim, even as melted ice still wet parts of his armour and dew clung to his hair. Loki’s hands were warm and soft, so unlike a Jotun, and he worked at Thor’s feet and lower legs with a kindness also unlike a Jotun. Thor whispered:

“What did Laufey say to you?”

Loki froze in his ministrations. He kept his hands upon Thor, while the scratchy fabric of his pyjama bottoms itched the heel of Thor’s feet, and the darkness of the bedroom hid all too well the way in which he bit his lip and narrowed his gaze. Thor listened as Loki hissed through his nose, before he felt those hands on his feet once more . . . slower, more sweeping, and less steady . . . Thor sat upright, pulling the pillows behind him to prop himself up, as he looked firmly to Loki and pursed his lips into a white line.

“I will not think any less of you,” swore Thor.

“Will you honestly not think any less of a monster?” Loki sighed and furrowed his brow. “I was able to get little sense from him, as he strove only to drive a wedge between myself and the Allfather. He almost fooled me into believing he truly loved Fárbauti, while he plead for me to move to their realm, and I know – for absolute certainty – he would seek to use me as a pawn no different to how our father used me. I did not trust him.

“I have use of him. I will admit to that, but – even now – I cannot understand how he can trust me and think me loyal to him, and it almost makes me feel guilty for abusing his trust and keeping him under my control. It sickens me that he can think me _like_ him, but then I wonder . . . does he simply see what I see? Am I truly like him?”

“You are nothing like Laufey or Father,” promised Thor.

“Ah, now you lie,” laughed Loki. “I know what I am, Thor. I know I have the Machiavellian nature of Laufey, just as I have Odin’s skill for diplomacy and leadership, but what happens when you combine the worst elements of two cruel dictators? I was the ‘bastard’ discarded by Laufey, but the ‘trophy’ stolen by Odin. Oh, did you not know? Laufey let it slip . . . _‘my bastard’_. . .  I doubt he even married Fárbauti. Perhaps she was merely his whore.”

Loki spat the word with utter contempt. Thor pursed his lips and held his tongue; it was true that women were subjected to a double-standard where conquests were concerned, but he knew not that Loki subscribed so deeply to societal prejudices. Those warm hands rested on his feet, no longer capable of movement, but Thor sensed a tremble as they wrapped around him to steady themselves. He listened to Loki’s heavy breaths, as his heart raced and his blood ran cold, but Loki eventually sighed and continued with his ministrations.

“In any case,” said Loki, “Laufey advised me to seek the advice of our healers. He insinuated that my being half-Jotun was somehow a detriment to my person . . . did I feel no longer myself, did I feel weak or light-headed, and did I notice any changes to my form? I dismissed his concerns, but his words lingered in my mind. I sought the healers on my return, avoiding Mother in the process, but they will tell me _nothing_. Odin has forbidden them.”

“If Father is aware of the issue, there can be no danger.” Thor ran his hand over his face. “He has been aware of your condition since birth, as such he must know the differences in your biology, and he would _never_ allow harm to befall you. I do not know why Laufey would tell you such things, especially if they caused you such alarm, but –”

“He is a Jotun. He sought to cause me emotional harm.”

Thor growled low in his throat. He kicked a little too harshly on Loki’s thigh, only for Loki to sneer at him and dig his sharp nails into the sole of his foot, and – as crescent-shaped cuts appeared on thick skin – Thor hissed and glared to Loki, even as Loki feigned an innocent smile and continued to massage his feet with wide eyes and a mouth opened into an ‘o’. Thor gritted his teeth, unwilling to start a fight when all was otherwise so well between them, and instead held his reservations to himself. Still, Laufey’s reported words echoed in his mind.

If Laufey spoke the truth, it left very little possibilities open. The Jotun were a strong warrior race, often with strong immune systems and impervious to many injuries common to an Asgardian, and the only difference Thor knew was their ability to procreate with but one gender. He laughed and shook his head, as he sank back into the pillows, but memories of the rape sprang to mind . . . _attempts to slow, to stop, the panic, the arousal, the release . . ._

Thor looked to Loki. The trauma of the rape was evident in his upturned room, with the gown still unworn and unfixed just beside him, and the trauma of his heritage was writ across his face, where bloodshot eyes still shimmered with unshed tears. Thor noticed no obvious signs of such a condition, but he knew Loki was in great pain and bore forth the responsibility of a realm, and – while Laufey would seek to alienate him – Thor owed it to Loki to support him, for the sake of their people as much as the sake of his brother. He said in a firm voice:

“Let me help you to prevent war, Loki.”

Thor pulled back his feet, as he swung around into a sitting position.  He swallowed hard and screwed shut his eyes, before he growled low in his throat and fought down his racing heart, and – as he clenched his hands into tight fists – he overcame his pride and ego and dropped onto the floor. It struck his knees hard, but he simply turned to Loki and raised a closed hand across his chest, and bowed before what was now his king. He kept his eyes cast low. Loki spread his legs and leaned forward, but – as he invaded Thor’s personal space – Thor spat:

“I have learnt well what our father sought for me to learn, Loki.”

“Oh, what was that? You must refresh my memory.”

“I have learnt that brute strength is not the only manner to achieve success.” Thor flared his nostrils and hissed. “I was helpless before the Jotun; if I had defended my honour, I would have been a prisoner of war or the first casualty of war. Aye, I failed to achieve true diplomacy and compromise, but – with patience – these are skills I will learn.”

“You? You are a hot-headed child unfit to rule! You are arrogant. You are reckless. You are a danger to our people. Are you what Asgard needs from a king? No. I do not believe that a mere week is enough for you to learn such basics, or one day enough for you to fully change.”

“You are correct, Brother,” admitted Thor. “A week has not changed me. I am here on my knees before you, but all I wish to do is scream that this is beneath me . . . I want to shout and mock and _stand_. . . I have learnt a great deal after our shared ordeal and since then without my powers, and I shall continue to learn even after I prove my worth, but until then -? I will do all that I can to ensure such changes stick. I will prove myself, if you let me.”

“You seek for my support? Surely Laufey told you that I –”

“Is it not you who said Laufey is a liar?”

Thor looked up with a smirk to rival Loki. He locked eyes with Loki and winked, as his smile reached his eyes and added deep lines, and – as Loki looked away with a scoff and a blush – he bowed deeper and struggled to find words. The past needed to be placed behind them, if either were to move forward and improve as people, and Thor would not hold the words of a Jotun against an Asgardian prince. Thor said in a low and deep voice:

“If I can change, so too can you.”

The dark room betrayed little of Loki’s expression, as he stood and marched to the bed. He cast no look at Thor’s direction, even as Thor continued to kneel deep in his bow, and instead he busied himself with making room to sleep. Papers were swept onto the floor. Plates were thrown onto various side-tables. He muttered incoherent ramblings, while the breeze picked up and Thor caught the sound of a woman singing from the hallway, and soon Loki sighed and swung around, as he placed his hands on his hips and spat out:

“You know that I cannot give you back your powers.”

“I have not asked that of you,” said Thor.

“I – I will see to it that all your privileges are reinstated.” Loki rubbed at his eyes. “I will undo all our father’s sanctions, but I _cannot_ give you back your powers or Mjölnir. You are a fool to trust me, Thor, for I will have no compunctions regarding using you to prove my worth, but . . . I admire your new humility and appreciate your respect.”

“I know you, Loki. You may say that you will betray me, but – when push comes to shove – you ultimately will do all that you can to keep me safe, just as I would do for you. Your ‘betrayals’ in the past were no more than subterfuge for our enemies or –”

“ _Enough, Thor_ ,” ordered Loki. “You do not know me as you think.”

“Then talk to me, Loki. Tell me what I need to know.”

Thor stood slowly with hands raised in surrender. He took careful and slow steps toward Loki, allowing his brother ample time to protest, but stopped just a few inches from him. Thor reached out to take his neck in hand, where he stroked lightly on his jaw and smiled to see Loki relax his shoulders and cease his frown, and he waited patiently for Loki to break the silence, but Loki did little except hold onto his wrist. He moved Thor’s hand and nuzzled against his palm with tears in his eyes, before blinking them away to gaze at Thor.

“I need to sleep,” said Loki.

The stars were elegant upon the sky. The moon was full and shone bright. Thor looked away from Loki with a sigh, as he removed his hand to work at his clothing, and – as sheer habit guided his actions – he failed to note how Loki paled and his lip trembled. The cape fell to the floor with a heavy thud, far away from his boots and socks, and he began to work at his armour as he glanced to Loki and asked in a half-interested voice:

“You will be uncomfortable if I take the bed, no?”

“I will be _‘uncomfortable’_ with you in my room,” snapped Loki. “I love you dearly, but it will be a _very_ long time before I can endure you on my sofa without a panic attack, let alone to even imagine sharing a bed with you once more. Go to your rooms, Thor.”

“I am tired, Loki. Are you sure I could not just rest for –?”

“ _Your rooms, Brother_ ,” repeated Loki.

Thor fought back an urge to argue. They would always be brothers, but that previous familiarity was tainted with bad memories and cruel associations. It would indeed be a long time before Loki was comfortable to share a bed, even with the knowledge it was simply for sleep with an exhausted sibling, and Thor could not resent him for that distance. He knew – after demanding an entirely new bed – he would also have been uncomfortable had the tables been turned. Thor collected his clothing with a yawn. He looked to Loki.

He saw how Loki trembled and how his body stiffened. Thor felt his heart stop, while his blood ran cold and mouth opened like a gaping fish, and – too afraid of the tears that threatened to rise – he quickly made his way to the bedroom doors. He struggled to stop the heat rise to his cheeks, as he realised how much remained broken between them, and his hand shook in turn as he reached for the doorknob. It would not turn for the sweat.

Thor said sincerely through a shaking voice:

“Goodnight and sleep well, Brother.”

 


	15. Chapter 15

“Notice how he has Thor’s ear.”

Sif folded her arms across her chest. It emphasised her assets, just enough that Fandral allowed his eyes to linger, before he licked at his lips and reclined back upon the _chaise longue_ , and he stared out across the room to avoid her form. He watched from his peripheral vision as she breathed deep and slow, so that each time her chest rose and fell in a hypnotic rhythm, and – as he cleared his throat – he crossed his legs and clasped his hands on his lap.

The room itself was cold that morning, enough so that he treasured her presence at the foot of the longue, and her body provided an iota of warmth that drew him an inch closer to her, as he pulled himself a little closer. He noted how Hogun scoffed from the breakfast table, as he cast low looks to Fandral with half-closed eyes, and he blushed in response as he dragged himself back that same inch away from Sif, while he scratched at his beard and gnawed at his lip. The scent of various meats and pastries drifted through the room. His mouth watered.

“He has always held Thor’s ear,” replied Fandral.

“Aye, I am aware of that,” whispered Sif in a cold voice. “I have seen him through the years; I have seen how he sits and stands so close to Thor, how he always angles his body to Thor and whispers to him when we enter, and how he always wishes for Thor to hear his words while keeping us in darkness to his intentions. He excludes us. I want to know why.”

“Oh, you and Hogun are always so _grim_! They are brothers. It’s a bond, enough that I imagine Loki is just as jealous of your friendship with Thor as you are of Thor’s kinship with him, and – well – you cannot blame him for private asides and conversations, surely?”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Loki is our friend, yes, but we have always been closer to Thor.” Fandral shrugged and sighed. “We were introduced to Loki through Thor, who always dragged his little brother along on our adventures, and how can one object to a prince? Likewise, any time Loki seeks for time alone with Thor for hunts and games and sparring matches, there we are invited! I adore Thor just as much as you, but . . . he is never good at _quality_ time, is he?”

Fandral turned his gaze to Thor. He sat on the edge of a long bench, where a gold charger rested in his thick fingers, and – upon that charger – Fandral noted a plate laden with Thor’s favourite foods, which he would eat while Loki conversed with him on some private matter. It brought a smile to Fandral’s face to see how Loki would steal a grape any time he thought Thor was unaware, while both knew Thor chose the fruit purposely for his brother and looked away at set times. The theft was no theft at all, but the pretence was maintained.

“I’m just saying, Loki perhaps feels an outsider,” whispered Fandral. “He has a bond with Thor, even despite their recent trauma, and it makes sense for him to gravitate to the person he knows best and has the deepest connection. It is no different than how _we_ are currently whispering to one another, as opposed to talking to _him_. I do not ascribe a deeper meaning to his actions, although I _do_ think him as being just as rude as we are.”

“I do not think Loki a bad man, but I do worry about his intentions.” Sif winced and leaned back onto the wall. “He stole my image. He sought to seduce Thor to ruin his reputation. It all failed and both were left with a deep trauma, only now he has the power of a kingdom and the jealousy of a child, and I worry that he shall abuse his status as king.”

“Our queen trusts him unconditionally. Our king made a mistake in trusting Thor. I fear sometimes our expectations fail to match reality, while you and Hogun have _never_ liked Loki and always saw the worst in him. Have faith, friend! I am sure all will be well.”

“Have you drunk this morning? Or are you still drunk from last night?”

“I don’t believe the two are mutually exclusive.”

A knock sounded from the door.

All eyes turned as a servant entered and bowed deep; meals taken in the private chambers were rarely disturbed, as servants subscribed to the belief that they should be always invisible, and even the guards stood outside with no intention to disturb the royals and nobles. The girl was pretty, enough to garner a wink from Fandral, and – as Sif quirked an eyebrow at him – he blushed and raised his hands in surrender, while the girl blushed from afar.

Thor stood clad in tight trousers and a sleeveless red shirt. The bulging muscles were hard to ignore, but – while a source of admiration to warriors and loved ones – the sight deepened the girl’s blush and brought a chuckle to Fandral’s lips. Sif struck his legs, forcing him to stifle his laugh behind his hand. Thor marched over to her, while Loki remained seated, and at once she dropped to her knees and brought a closed hand to her chest, while he eyes stared hard at the ground and her hair hid her face from sight. It was clear she was intimidated.

“Prince Thor,” said the girl. “King Loki. I have been sent by our queen to command your presence in the Allfather’s chambers; I was told that – should you refuse – to remind you that you both have a gift so great that even the Allfather can not claim such a privilege, and that appreciation is most shown through small concessions. You must not dally.”

Thor raised his hand with a hiss of breath. The girl stood and held her hands before her, while she kept her head low and shook almost imperceptibly, and – as Fandral furrowed his brow and pursed his lips – he wondered whether she had reason to fear the royals. It was known that Loki and Odin were particularly harsh, having guards and servants flogged for even mild mistakes, and he swallowed hard and looked away from her pale face. Thor nodded to her and spoke in a soft and slow voice, as he placed his hands onto his hips:

“We will leave now.”

The girl bowed and quickly left; her pattered footsteps echoed behind her, while the soft click of the door signalled her absence, and – with a long sigh of relief – Fandral fell back onto his pillows and gazed up at the ceiling above him. Loki nudged at the plate of food beside him, now abandoned by Thor, while Hogun took a seat beside Volstagg on a bench more central to the two sets of people. There was no plate in Volstagg’s hands, as his morning was spent with his large family in their warm home. Volstagg observed in a loud voice:

“Well, that was a strange message.”

“How so?” Hogun asked.

“Well,” said Fandral. “What can _they_ have that the Allfather does not? It’s almost like a riddle, but I haven’t quite the mind to decipher it. What gift could anyone claim that is so great and precious even our king himself could not lay claim to it?”

“The greatest gift is Frigga as a mother,” said Loki.

Fandral rapidly blinked. He looked to Loki with an open mouth, only to see Loki with a stern expression and cold gaze, while their current king prodded and poked at the food on the plate with a strange indifference. Fandral vaguely remembered a memory from their youth, some time when Frigga cried and Loki cried in turn . . . _‘I wanted to learn the spell for you’, ‘you need not give me a gift, my boy’, ‘but that hardly seems fair when the greatest gift is having you for a mother’_. . . he was surprised such words left an impression on Frigga.

Thor turned and bellowed Loki’s name, loud enough that Sif and Hogun winced. The call only received a curled lip from Loki and a dark glare, as he took the plate into both hands and stood to walk it back to the breakfast table, and – as he walked – Fandral noticed he bore a sweat on his brow, as if even these temperatures were too warm for him. Loki played the part of a hungry man looking for larger portions, as he muttered in an insincere voice:

“I will come by and by.”

“Do not delay, Brother,” chided Thor. “I know the news she seeks to tell is likely what we already have uncovered, but . . . a part of me fears that there is more. I beg you, Loki, do not be late and do not hide. I fear this is something we both must learn.”

“I said I will be there by and by. I will keep my word.”

“See that you do,” warned Thor.

Thor paused with eyes on Loki. Loki made no sign that he recognised he was being watched, even as Thor’s face fell and his shoulders slumped, but he turned and – with a flaring of nostrils and wince of his eyes – he marched towards the doors with head low. He made no sign of goodbye to his friends, as if lost too much in thought, and it was clear to all that he either knew or suspected something that he dare not say aloud even to Loki.

He left with a slam of the door, leaving them in a relative silence. Volstagg heaved a long sigh, as he ran a callused hand over his face and shook his head, and – with a loud slap on his legs – jumped to his feet and cricked his back. He wandered over to Loki with a half-feigned smile and clapped a hand on a firm shoulder; Fandral noted he squeezed with the same paternal affection he gave to his children, while his free hand came to take the plate from Loki’s hands and placed it onto the tabletop. He bent low to meet Loki’s eyes.

“Loki?” Volstagg asked. “Are you alright, chap?”

Loki looked lost. Volstagg repeated his name once or twice more, before Loki visibly jumped and looked to him with wide eyes, and – as Volstagg opened his mouth to ask after him – he stepped back and raised a hand as if in dismissal. A long silence followed, as Hogun slowly stood without sound to step beside them with hand on the hilt of his sword. Loki did not miss the gesture. He let out a sound between a gasp and a scoff, as he raised his fingers to his temple and shook his head in rapid succession, before he stepped further back.

Sif stood in turn, but the furrow in her brow spoke of concern. Fandral almost reached for her, until he pulled back his hand with a blush, and he saw how her lips parted and eyes widened in fear that some harm had befallen Loki in some manner. No one dared to move. Loki appeared almost skittish, until he turned heels and marched towards the doors with head down and eyes narrowed into a deathly glare at the ground. He spoke with a cold voice.

“I must go to the Treasury,” said Loki.

“What? _Why_?” Fandral asked.

“There is something there that is mine.” Loki clenched his fists. “I will apologise for my absence, as well as ask you to say nothing to my mother, but I must see what truths are revealed and what exactly has been hidden from us. I will be lied to no longer.”

Loki flung open the doors and left.

Fandral climbed to his feet with a yawn; he stretched and arched his back, and – as Sif stormed across the hall to close the doors – the lingering silence grew uncomfortable, enough that he saw the looks exchanged between Hogun and Sif. He noticed how Sif pressed her ear to the door, before marching centre of the room where they congregated before the breakfast table. Volstagg made to grab a piece of bread, only to be stopped midway in his movements by a look from Hogun, and he pulled back with a nervous smile. Sif was the first to speak:

“We should tell Thor.”

“Tell him what?” Fandral asked. “Do you remember how you grieved when Haldor died? You thought you would never love again. I know it’s not _quite_ the same, but Loki and Thor endured a great trauma in turn and neither thought they would ever trust the other, and – well – that is something that will take a great deal of time to overcome. He’s just . . . well . . .”

“Frustrated,” offered Volstagg. “I watched Loki grow from boy into a man. He probably hates himself for having failed in his plan, while he hates Thor for having hurt him, and now he just – ah – hates _everyone_ because he can’t reconcile growing to forgive either himself _or_ Thor. He has too much a black-and-white mentality; if he forgives Thor, to him it’s the same as forgiving the transgression, and that’s when it gets all messy in his head.”

“You give him too much credit,” muttered Hogun. “He has a plan. He hides from Heimdall, but now he hides from Queen Frigga and Thor. I would not be surprised if he runs off to exchange secret words with Laufey. He would betray us all, king or not.”

“Loki’s always been one for mischief, but what you’re talking about is something else entirely,” chided Volstagg. “Why do you always assume the absolute worst?”

“It wouldn’t hurt to warn our queen,” added Sif.

The silence returned. Worry writ itself across the features of Sif and Hogun, as both stared hard at one another with heads held high and perfect postures, while Volstagg – with a huff of indignation – scoffed at them and shook his head. Fandral watched as Volstagg waved them off, before fussing about with the food on the table, and Fandral looked back toward the doors as he contemplated following Loki. He listened as his heart raced.

Fandral remembered how Loki spent so many minutes simply staring at his wrist, as if seeing his skin for the first time, and he remembered the hint of a wound on his forearm, as if he sought to see blood at some point. Fandral remembered the disappearances . . . Thor’s admission that Loki often wept, Volstagg’s revelation of his destroyed rooms . . . he feared something far darker than his friends, but neither possibility was one he wished to consider. He bit into his lip and let out a shuddered breath, as he shook his head.

“Let me go,” said Fandral. “I’ll talk to her.”

 


	16. Chapter 16

Thor raced onward.

The guards flung open the doors before him. He watched with disinterested eyes as servants and nobles scattered from his path, parting like the seas with half-formed words on their lips. His cape flew out behind him. Footsteps echoed loud upon the tiled floors. The air grew colder and colder the closer to the treasury he reached, and – just behind him – Frigga panted for breath as she struggled to maintain his speed, ever on his heels as he marched.

Frigga moved well for her age, but the occasional jerkiness to her movements betrayed the pain in her joints and exhaustion in her muscles. Each time Thor slowed she would chastise him, waving him onward with a trembling hand, even as she stumbled and her blonde locks fell awkwardly about her face. The corridors grew longer and longer, ever darker and darker, until they reached the general area of the Treasury. Thor stopped. Frigga ran into him, as he held out an arm to keep her at bay. An eerie silence pervaded the air.

No guards were in sight. Thor looked about the cold corridors and saw no one, even as he slowly stepped forward with slow and steady strides, and – as he angled his head about in search of some familiar face – he noted that the Treasury doors were left open. It was a breach of protocol unlike any other, so much so that his hands clenched into tight fists and Frigga unsheathed a dagger hidden in the folds of her dress. Frigga whispered:

“Fandral specified the Treasury?”

“Aye, he would not lie.”

Thor slowly continued forward, until he stood before the doors. It was bright inside, enough that he turned his head to allow his eyes to adjust, and – as he looked inside – a loud gasp came from beside him. Frigga raised her hands to her lips; blinking away tears, she made to race toward Loki, only to be once more blocked by Thor. He threw out an arm. It kept her just enough at bay that it wouldn’t startle Loki, but in turn the tears were only added to her eyes. Thor struggled to process what he saw, even as he slowly walked down the steps.

Loki was in Jotun form.

He looked almost like any other Asgardian, but his eyes were sheer red. Thor swallowed hard, as he slowly let his gaze fall over the rest of Loki, and he saw the deep blue of his skin was etched with patterns quite unlike Laufey in design. He looked . . . handsome. It was an appearance both Asgardian and Jotun in nature, exposing both the best of both races, and Thor flushed to realise that this was still his brother before him.

Tears streamed down Loki’s cheeks, as his fingers gripped at the Casket. He looked to Thor and Thor alone, with mouth slightly parted and gasping for breath, while his body was wracked with silent sobs. Frigga wept in turn, shaking at the head of the staircase. Thor raised a hand to her and pleadingly begged her to stay put, speaking only with a soft gaze and silent narrowing of his eyes, and – while her expression turned cold – she nodded her acknowledgement and consent. He continued down the stairs with slow and careful steps.

Frigga sobbed from behind him, but he kept his eyes on Loki. Loki placed the Casket down onto the pedestal, but – for a long few seconds – his Jotun form remained. The spell that Odin used to bind him to a biological Asgardian state was broken. Loki used what last ounce of self-control he possessed to restore his former appearance, as the illusion of his Asgardian form slowly returned, and reached out a trembling hand to Thor as he asked in a breathless voice:

“What am I, Brother?”

Loki collapsed onto his knees. He wept in earnest, until broken and choked sobs echoed about the room, and fell onto his forearms while long fingers clawed at the tile. Thor ran the last few steps toward him; he dropped down and pulled Loki against him, until Loki’s arms wrapped around his shoulders and wet cheeks buried themselves against his neck, and – as he rested his hands on Loki’s back – he felt the vibrations and trembles from how hard Loki choked back his tears. He was broken. Thor noted his skin was still cold . . . still clammy . . .

Frigga raced down the many steps and the long hallway; Thor looked at her through blurred eyes and blinked away tears as she knelt beside Loki, and – with slight hesitation – she placed her hands on his shoulders. He tensed. It was the only sign he recognised her presence, along with a holding of a long breath, and soon tears soaked through Thor’s shirt. Nails clawed lines down Thor’s armour, and his cries hurt to hear through both pitch and pain.

Thor raised a hand to pull back Loki’s locks, so that the tears ceased to soak his hair and block his vision, and – with a chaste kiss to his cheek – let his lips linger on cold skin, while he gently stroked his hair with careful touches. Frigga stood. The rustle of her many layers provided a small distraction, while her strength and calm nature helped in getting Loki to stand in turn, and Thor threw an arm around Loki’s waist to support his weight, even as Loki clung to him and continued to sob with the pressure of his grief. Loki asked quietly:

“W-What – What am I?”

The question drew a gasp from Frigga. Her hands ran over Loki’s face, as she looked briefly to Thor with tear-stained cheeks, and wiped away Loki’s tears and pressed a kiss to his forehead with trembling lips. Loki pulled away from her, as he buried himself against Thor with deep cries and shook his head over and over, until Frigga was forced to hold him still with his face between her warm hands. Frigga forced him to look at her, as she locked eyes with him and said in a strong and slow voice four simple words:

 “You are my son.”

* * *

Thor impatiently waited.

He paced back and forth before the bedchamber doors; each footstep echoed loudly about the halls, while the eyes of the guards remained fixated on him, and yet – as he strove to still his racing heart – nothing else mattered except for Loki. The doors stood tall and ominous. He kept his gaze hard on them, while his mouth ran dry and head grew light, and he let out a shuddered breath with a trembling hand to hide his mouth. It was cold . . . too cold.

Clouds of steam appeared with every breath, until he was forced to breathe through his nose, and he clenched his fists in fear that this was some side-effect from Loki’s new form, even as Loki strove to hide those changes behind a further illusion. The thickness of his cape did little to insulate him from the chill. He stood still and let the red fabric fall around him, as he massaged his temples with callused fingers and fixated his gaze to the doors, but the silence of the hallways only added to his nervousness. He listened to his pulse pound.

The doors finally opened.

Frigga appeared centre of the warm light, but Thor looked beyond her frame. The chamber of the Allfather was still small and silent, cast in a golden glow that stemmed from his powers, while he lay so peaceful upon rich furs and luxurious sheets. Thor bit into his lip; Odin looked so vulnerable and frail, dependent on the guards outside and the family by his side, but now there was no one in his room but Loki. A low sigh escaped Thor’s lips, as he instinctively moved forward a step and reached out despite the distance.

Loki sat on a golden chair beside the bed. He hunched over with his head buried upon his forearms, while he wept so long and hard that his body shook with his sobs, and Thor swallowed back a lump in his throat at the sight. The black hair – once brushed and slicked back into a perfect style – was now loose and tangled, while his clothes were creased. It was a drastic difference in style to previous weeks and months. Thor moved forward.

Frigga closed the doors, leaving Thor on the wrong side of the room. He gently pressed his hand and forehead to the wood, leaning against the doors for support as he drew in a shuddered breath, and he blinked away unshed tears from his eyes. Loki could be heard even with the barrier between them. It drew Thor’s hand into a fist, while his muscles tensed and teeth gritted with pressure, and he barely noticed as Frigga placed a warm hand on his shoulder and stood so close that her body warmed his skin. Frigga whispered:

“Follow me. I must talk with you at once.”

Thor raised his head to look at her. He saw the paleness to her cheeks, as well as the tear-stains that still lingered on her skin, and he wanted both to comfort her and turn from her, as he lightly banged his fist on the door in an odd rhythm. The cold chill continued, even as his blood ran hot and his adrenaline coursed. Thor spun around and licked at his lips, while tears threatened to spill from his eyes, and he feared to speak lest his voice break. He ran a hand through blonde locks and shook his head, as he said in a firm voice:

“I will not leave Loki.”

“He is with your father,” reassured Frigga. “The Odinforce covers him where he sits, which shall provide a small comfort to his soul and changed form, and the guards shall stand guard outside to protect them both in our absence. If there is any change, they will inform us at once, but . . . this is an issue that cannot wait. My son, I beg you to listen to me.”

“This cannot wait?” Thor ran a hand over his face. “This may be Father’s last sleep, while Loki suffers more than I can bear. If this is truly an urgent matter, I will go with you and listen to what you have to say, but if there is any chance that this can wait -?”

“Thor, every second away from your father is a pain unlike any other. I have endured wounds in battle, just as I have endured the pains of childbirth and the loss of loved ones, but – all this – I would endure again just so that I could see him awaken and smile. He is my first love. He is my only love. I also lost a child before Loki . . . one for whom I still grieve . . . trust that to leave either is not something I take lightly. Come with me. Let me speak.”

“If I listen to you, I can return to stand watch over them?”

“Aye, but please . . . come quick.”

Frigga turned her back to him. He waited a few long seconds, as she made her way through the hallway, before he followed behind with quick paces. It was a short walk; he passed only a small number of doors before she reached his chambers, and – with a panicked flush – he watched her open forth his doors and wander inside without forethought. He dashed in after her. The doors slammed shut, which provided a momentary distraction, and gave him enough time to grab some furs from his bed and throw them across the floor by the side.

No words were uttered. No judgements given. Thor ran back to the sofa and carefully placed soft pillows at the comfiest section, while guiding her politely to sit and bowing before her, and – as she cast her eyes with a grin to the bed – he flushed ever darker and threw himself into an armchair opposite. The items hidden beneath the furs provided strange lumps and shapes, enough that he wished the ground would swallow him whole. He sighed.

“I did not expect you to pick an audience here,” he muttered.

“Next time I will know to give forewarning.” Frigga smiled and shook her head. “I can at least appreciate you live a far less cluttered life than Loki. He takes too much after your father, unable to discard what is unneeded lest there be need once more, and sometimes I feel too much like I have entered a museum than I have entered a bedroom.”

“Loki considers himself a collector. He would argue it is a taste for the finer things that enables him to appreciate the aesthetics of such ‘clutter’, and the last time I attempted to tidy his rooms left me on the receiving end of his pranks for a full year. I learnt my lesson.”

“Surely he would not attempt to prank his mother?”

“Is that why you called me here?” Thor asked. “You seek to clear Loki’s space?”

Thor lifted an eyebrow in doubt. It was warm within his rooms, enough that he could sink back against the cushions of his armchair and almost forget the world around him, but – as he half-closed his eyes and threw back his head – he heard how Frigga breathed deep, rustling the fabrics of her skirts as she fidgeted where she sat. The silence between them started comfortable, but grew to be awkward as he caught his racing pulse and the sound of footsteps beyond, as the guards patrolled the hallways. Frigga drew in a deep breath and said:

“I need you to remain calm, Thor.”

He clenched his fists, afraid of the inevitable. The armour on him grew heavy, enough that – for the first time in many centuries – he grew claustrophobic under its weight, and he thought only to the differences between Jotun and Asgardian . . . height, abilities, weaknesses _. . . procreation . . ._ he bit into his lip until he tasted blood. The iron was thick and heavy, while he swallowed back and let out a shuddered breath with red lips.

“What is wrong, Mother?”

“You understand that Loki’s physiology is different, yes?” Frigga smoothed her skirts and looked to the carpeted floor. “I know that you went to Jotunheim. I know that you returned only to ignore my summons and attended to Loki. I know that today – after all he has endured – Loki has exposed his true form to you. It is secret no longer: Loki is Jotun.”

“I am aware,” said Thor. “I have seen how the news has broken him. I worry as I think he would do anything in this state, simply to prove he is not the monster he believes himself to be, and the Jotun are the source of his anger and frustrations. It is difficult to put measures in place to protect him, as you have given him the throne and ultimate power! If I place guards outside his door, he dismisses them. If I tell Heimdall to watch him, he hides from him.

“I think my presence – my _acceptance_ – has quelled the worst. He knows that he has unconditional support, while he has no reason to create competition between us . . . had I truly left as intended, he may have lashed out further, unable to endure the fear of losing whatever he gained to a brother that may prove himself more worthy. He is afraid.”

“You do not think he shall harm himself? Even if more is to come?”

“I think he is more a harm to others.” Thor winced and shook his head. “I think he will do all that he can to prove his worth, which means succeeding where I fail and gaining Father’s explicit approval, and I can only see him causing harm to himself should he feel Father has rejected him. He has tied up his entire sense of self-worth around Father and myself.”

Frigga wiped away tears from her cheek. Thor rose and wandered across the room, where he took a clean handkerchief from his bedside table and returned to her side, and – with a grateful smile – she took the plain silk and dabbed at her eyes. He sat beside her. The sofa dipped with her weight, but she made no sign of acknowledgement, instead so focussed on her tears and soft sobs through forced laughter. Thor swallowed hard and begged:

“Tell me what is wrong.”

The silence lingered, even as he reached for her hand. Thor lowered his head, letting his gaze fall upon their clasped hands, and he noted how soft the skin was to the touch, how much it reminded him of Loki and how he wished Loki to be present. He allowed his mind to wander over all the possibilities, but each time he would fall back on the heavy and cold truth, and he squeezed on her hand for something to ground him. The room was warm, but a cold sweat broke over his skin and a sensation like cold water washed over him.

“You already know,” whispered Frigga.

“I suspect,” admitted Thor.

“We swore that we would tell Loki before it was too late.” Frigga wiped away a tear. “Your father sought to gain information from Laufey, so that Loki could make an informed choice as to how he wished to proceed in the matter. Laufey demanded the return of Loki for such information, to which your father refused. We promised to tell him, but only after he had time to process the shock of his heritage, but then . . . your father fell into his sleep.”

“You still will not say the words aloud.” Thor wrung the air with his free hand. “If this is what I believe, it could well just break Loki. He will not wish to bring another so-called ‘monster’ into existence! That is not to mention the taboo of a relationship between two siblings, one now tied forever with blood, and what further stigma would that bring?”

“Loki will have our full support and love, Thor. He will want for nothing.”

“He does not believe that _now_ , let alone when he finds out!”

Thor let go of her hand. He stood and paced with long steps, as he ran a cold hand over his face and let out a shuddered sigh. A shirt of Loki’s lay across the room, along with a selection of his books, and Thor remembered the nights spent gossiping and sparring and avoiding the various duties that befell them. He felt Loki’s absence. The shared rape had left a permanent scar, one that ran deep enough to leave lasting anxieties on both men, and he could not imagine how large a wedge a secret of this magnitude would cast between them. He spat:

“Will you not say the words aloud?”

He marched over to a large water basin, not far from the windows. The water was warm and clear, enough that he could see his flushed face looking back at him, and – with a violent splash of his hands – he scooped the liquid to wash over his face. He listened to Frigga’s soft footsteps, as she followed behind him and placed a hand on his shoulder. It was a gentle touch, one that seemed out of place with such a harsh truth, and she said in a low voice:

“Loki is pregnant.”

Thor gripped the rim of the basin. The contents jostled with the force of his hold, casting waves across the water that rippled outward, and – as his hands trembled – the water spilled over the edges and dripped onto the floor below. He panted for breath, as his pale face was reflected back on him. The distorted image added to his dizziness. Frigga pulled her hand away, letting it fall limply by her side, as he hunched over and tasted bile in his throat.

The realisation was too much to bear; he feared whether Loki would keep the child or abort the child, feared how their friends would react to such news, feared what it would mean politically for their realms . . . he feared so much, but most of all he feared losing Loki . . . the knowledge of Jotun physiology was held secret by the Jotun people. He did not know what dangers may be faced. He did not know what risks were entailed. Thor ran a hand through his hair and stumbled back, until he collapsed on his bed and buried his head within his hands.

Fingers tangled into his hair, as he blinked away tears and stared at the floor. Frigga lingered by the basin, where – on a shelf not far from her – images of their family lay immortalised behind glass and on canvas, as her fingertips brushed at Loki’s face. The staggered sighs she emitted spoke of pain and loss, but nothing compared to the heavy dread that balled itself inside Thor’s stomach. He swallowed back the acid and said in a cold voice:

“I am not yet ready to become a father.”

“Neither is Loki,” said Frigga.

“Aye, _Loki_ ,” muttered Thor. “Loki who – upon my return – had Heimdall inform me that all usage of the Bifrost was strictly prohibited, while hiding himself from Heimdall’s eyes and losing himself further into his despair. This news will break him! I know that he conferred with Laufey, that he had plans beyond that we know, but this –”

Thor stopped. He slowly raised his head with wide eyes. The memories of Loki’s tears and screams echoed within his mind, while his heart raced and mouth ran dry, and – as he looked to Frigga – he saw the cold realisation dawn within her eyes. Thor stood and pointed a finger in her direction, while he shook it in time to his thoughts. It was a rhythmic gesture. It provided a small moment of relief, as he pursed his lips into a line and drew in a hiss of breath, and – lowering his hand – he said in a low and calm voice:

“Laufey said there were traitors in the house of Odin.”

Frigga furrowed her brow, as she walked across the room. He raised a hand to keep her at bay, afraid that she would distract him with soft words and gentle gestures, and – as she kept her distance – he looked toward the main doors with a narrowed haze. Thor knew Loki. _He knew him_. Loki – _always so perceptive about everyone but himself_ – was lost in despair and desperate to prove his worth, with hidden ways in and out of Asgard. He held Laufey’s trust.

The coldness in the hallways. The urge to seek his true form. Thor flared his nostrils and clenched his fists, as he thought to the extreme last-minute ban on Bifrost travel and Loki’s many absences from Heimdall’s sight, and – _finally_ – the last few pieces to the puzzle fell before Thor’s eyes. He marched over to Frigga, placing a firm grip on her upper arm as he lead her to the bedroom doors with long and steady strides, all the while she muttered complaints and asked endless questions. Thor stopped before the doors. He ordered:

“We must go to Loki.”

“Why?” Frigga asked. “What can you fear?”

“Loki sought to sabotage my coronation as a last resort,” spat Thor. “He admitted to me that Laufey trusts him and that he would use that trust, while – even in his despair – he still yearns to prove himself above all others. I know not what he has planned, but I suspect he has manufactured some disaster in which to prove his worth. We must go.”

“Loki would not be so foolish, Thor. He has the responsibility –”

Thor threw open the doors. _Icy cold._ He saw his breath steam before him, while the tiled floors shimmered with an almost imperceptible layer of frost, and the coldness burned the back of his throat with every breath. Frigga pulled away from him, as she wrapped her arms about her body and shivered with a broken breath. The guards stood tense and on full alert, as Thor swallowed back his rage and all but ran to the Allfather’s rooms. Thor bellowed:

“ _Now, Mother_!”

 

 


	17. Chapter 17

“Where is Loki?”

Thor stood in the doorway. He cast his eyes about the bedchamber; it was still so small and still so silent, and the golden light of the Odinforce was the only comfort, as it brushed bare skin and lessened the tension in taut muscles. Odin slept. The slow and steady rises of his chest were the only sign of life, as he lay prone and helpless on the white sheets, and Thor – with a tightening his fists and a clenching of his jaw – walked to his father’s side.

He reached out to take his hand; he held the wrinkled skin with a gentle touch, while his heart pounded furiously in his ears with a heavy pulse, and – as guilt overwhelmed him – he lowered his head and briefly closed his eyes. Frigga stepped inside, while the doors closed with a loud thud. They were together. The only sounds were that of Frigga’s gasped breaths, as she panted and dropped weakly into a chair, while the guards outside clattered and clinked their armour with every fidgeting movement in the ice cold halls. No one said a word.

Thor held tight to his father’s hand, while his eyes wandered. There was nothing out of place. The bed was untouched and perfectly made, while Odin slept with no visible injuries or illnesses, and there was no sign of any fight within the chambers . . . no scratches, no scuffs, no splinters of wood . . . Thor forced his breathing to a crawl. He struggled to fight away the tension from his muscles, as he curled his lips and snarled out:

“I know you hide here, Brother!”                                 

Frigga sat upright. Thor saw how her skin paled, while she gracefully reached out for Odin’s other hand and smiled when she stroked his palm with her thumb, and – as he eyes fell to him – he saw the all-encompassing love that he so often envied, always hoping to find with another the way they found each other. He let go of Odin’s hand and paced the length of the bedchamber, while he bit at his lips and kept his head low. There was a strange sensation at certain points. It was a small brush of air and a tingle on his skin.

“I can feel his presence,” spat Thor.

“The guards say these doors have not opened,” said Frigga. “The illusions he casts have no form, which means he hides within these walls, and I make no guess as to why he hides, but I do know your anger will only push him further into isolation. Be patient, Thor.”

“He would have me worry, all while he mocks me from the shadows!”

“Who is it that you worry for, my son? Tell me that.”

Frigga looked to Thor with a firm gaze. The small narrowing of her eyes, as well as the pursed lips forced into a smile, spoke of simultaneous warning and comfort. He winced and ran a hand over his face; it was the tiny glance she gave to Odin that gave away her intent, which was to warn him of one simple truth. _Odin saw and heard all that transpired around him_. It would be foolish to say too much of his suspicions, lest they be held against Loki later on, for – son or not – a traitor would need to be punished by the crown.

“I worry for Loki,” admitted Thor.

“He will reveal himself soon, I am sure,” said Frigga.

“I will not lose him! If he has put himself at risk -?” Thor shook his head. “I know that he hears me, so he will also know that I will not say more before Father, but I will not see him make reckless choices that would lead to him being taken! I know not what he has planned, but I know he would do anything to prove his worth, and . . . he is _already_ worthy.”

“If your father could talk, he would say as much to Loki. He is our son. Your father does not agree with all that his sons do and say, but – even when he is forced to chastise and punish – he still loves you both above all else. He even sought for you both to be kings.”

“With Loki as my consort? Tell me . . . did Loki lie about that?”

“That was his initial plan,” admitted Frigga.

Thor let out a gasp of breath. He buried his head into his hands, as he ceased pacing and stood still with a tremble to his limbs that threatened to topple him, and – as he threw out a hand to steady himself against the wall – something lightly brushed against his arm. A scent of cologne and a rustle of fabric entered his senses. Thor swallowed hard, unable to reconcile the image of Loki in Jotun form as a consort with the image of Loki in Asgardian form as his brother, and it was too much a betrayal to even envision Loki in such a role.

“We grew to love Loki too much and too quickly.” Frigga raised a hand to her heart. “We knew he would be your brother, as to raise him as a consort would mean denying him the love of two parents, and – if I am honest – we were selfish in our motives, as I do not think either of us could bear to deny him such a love. Your father instead talked about raising Loki to be king in Laufey’s place, once Laufey passed and the throne was freed.”

“Loki would rule Jotunheim, while I would rule Asgard?” Thor smiled. “I imagine you would have plans for our children, with an arranged marriage to further unite our two realms, and the strong union of our kingdoms would prevent war for millennia to come. How is it that you raised him then to hate his people? He thinks himself a monster! He is not.”

“Thor, these were mere plans that –”

A crash echoed from the halls.

They turned to face the doors, where a spluttered cry came forth. _A thud. A scratch_. Thor heard mumbled gurgles, along with metal on metal. Frigga raced forth to the foot of the bed, where she unsheathed the hidden sword from the bedpost, and – as she raised it high, with the expertise of a true warrior – the light from the Odinforce caught the blade and glistened to give it life. Thor clenched his fists and held them ready. The doors opened.

He caught sight of the guards in his peripheral vision. They lay prone and lifeless, as blood seeped out and pooled around their broken limbs, and beyond them the hallways were covered in a thick layer of frost that shimmered in the shadows. Three Jotuns stepped forward. Laufey stood before the others, with his head held high and shoulders thrown back, and – even in this unwarranted invasion – he looked every part a king. Red eyes locked on Odin. Hand formed into an ice sword. They were here to commit a murder, as if it were a right.

Frigga ran forward.

The sword swung in a grand arc. Frigga spun to feint a blow from below, before striking down upon the Jotun to Laufey’s right, and – as the blade sliced into thick skin – a loud cry of agony gurgled forth from penetrated lungs, while blood bubbled from now still lips. The Jotun collapsed to the ground. Laufey growled long and hard, before he struck out with a firm blow at Frigga, and – as Thor screamed out in fury – he watched as his mother crashed against the walls of the bedchamber and slid down like a broken doll. _Unconscious_.

Adrenaline surged through him. Vision turned red. Thor swallowed back a roar of rage, as he ran full force towards Laufey, with fists held high and muscles bulging with tension, and – as he ran – Laufey only laughed and held his hands out in a gesture of provocation. Every step dragged into an eternity, while the world moved in slow motion, and yet his heart raced every faster and a cold sweat broke over his skin. A loud voice called out:

“ _Stop_!”

Thor used every ounce of self-control to remain still. He bit into his tongue, while blood flooded his mouth, and panted heavily for desperate breath. Loki appeared at the foot of the bed in Asgardian form. The illusion was perfect, so much so that even the small lines at the corners of his eyes and the shine on his curls of hair were clearly visible, and his green eyes – cold and stern – gazed at Laufey with all the command of a king. Laufey stepped toward him, ever closer, enough that Thor’s fear increased. Laufey spat out:

“Tell me why I shouldn’t kill you.”

Loki paid no mind to Frigga or Thor. The Jotun guard kept his place by the doors, while Thor remained a few feet away from Laufey, so close that he could grab him should the situation call from it, and yet Loki’s eyes never left Laufey. He stood tall with one hand on Gungnir, while the other hung gracefully by his side with no weapons in sight, and – as Laufey curled his lip – Thor clenched his fists in fear of what might befall his brother.

“I am unarmed,” said Loki.

“My man lies dead at my feet.” Laufey curled his lip. “I have no Casket. You showed us ways into Asgard and promised that your rule would bring forth our prosperity, but instead you place obstacles before us and keep our promised rewards at bay. You are a deceiver.”

“You have no _idea_ what I am,” said Loki.

The words hung heavy in the air. Thor listened to his heart pound, while a cold wave of nausea swept over him, and – as his eyes fell on Loki – he noticed a small change to his skin that slowly extended until the pale white became a deep blue, while green eyes turned a violent red against his sharp facial features. Loki took his Jotun form. It was eerie and beautiful, but alien and frightening, and only his smirk and the shrug of his shoulders betrayed him as the same cocky man as before. Loki said in an all too cheerful voice:

“Hello, Father.”

Laufey smiled. It looked almost sincere, if a Jotun could understand the concept of ‘sincerity’, and his expression softened to look upon Loki. Thor noted how those eyes ran down his form, as they took in every single detail, and how they raised to finally meet Loki’s eyes, even as they shimmered in the low light as if with tears. Laufey lowered his head; a short bow that marked respect for a fellow monarch, while betraying nothing of his emotions.

The bedchamber fell silent. No sounds could be heard from the hallways. Thor drew in hissed breaths, each low and hard, as he longed for his powers and former strength, but instead he looked to Loki and half-narrowed his eyes in silent warning. _Loki was his brother._ He swallowed hard a lump in his throat, as he sought for silent confirmation that this was some form of trick, only to be met with further silence. Laufey reached out with rough hands to touch Loki, but Loki stepped back with a smirk and shook his head. Laufey muttered:

“You have taken your true form.”

“For now,” admitted Loki.

“I still wonder to this day why Odin never killed you.” Laufey cast a cold eye to Thor, as he looked him up and down with a snarl. “It is what I would have done. I would not have allowed the bastard child of my enemy to live, not least after he stole from me all that that was mine to claim. Odin is as weak as you are a liar.”

“Well, perhaps if you hadn’t so carelessly abandoned me -?” Loki waved a hand with a shrug. “I am no longer weak. I rule Asgard until Odin awakens, while you are here because you abused my trust and stole your way into our realm. You have broken our truce, Invader.”

“Perhaps that broken truce was the wisest choice I ever made.”

“You seek to reclaim the son you lost.”

Laufey hardened his expression. He stepped forward again, while Loki took another step back, and – as his legs hit against the foot of the bed – he stood as the only obstacle between Laufey and Odin, while Gungnir remained his only weapon. Thor furrowed his brow, as he noted how Loki refused to be touched by such a creature. Laufey hummed in amusement, while he stepped back and turned his head to look about the room, and yet there was nothing to be seen except an unconscious queen and a dead Jotun. Laufey mused:

“Asgard can finally be ours.”

“No, Asgard is _mine_ ,” swore Loki. “The rest of the Nine Realms shall be _yours_.”

“Apart from my son even after our reunion? How cruel.”

Loki said nothing in response. The curl to his lip betrayed his contempt of Laufey, even as his marked blue skin emphasised the similarities between them, and his grip on Gungnir strengthened until his knuckles turn white. Laufey quirked his head, as if looking behind him at some hidden figure, and – as he chuckled – Loki’s blue skin paled and his lips parted with an unheard gasp. He was frightened. Laufey picked up on his distress and spat:

“It is too bad that you lie.”

Thor heard a strange sound. It came from behind Laufey, where he caught sight of Loki – in Asgardian form – with daggers in hand, and it was clear that the master of magic sought to deceive Laufey with illusions and words. Laufey turned to look at Loki’s Asgardian form, turning his back to the Jotun at the foot of the bed. The contempt was clear. He curled his lip and raised his head high, as he narrowed his gaze on the pale skin of his son.

The reaction was instantaneous. Laufey raised his arm high. The long limb encased itself in a thick layer of ice, as it took the form of a sharp sword, and – seeing the dangerous glimmer in Laufey’s eyes, seeing how he angled his body away from the Asgardian Loki – Thor realised that this double-bluff of Loki’s had failed. Loki sought for Laufey to attack the illusion, while attacking him from behind, but instead . . . Laufey saw through his trick. The few split-seconds passed by like hours, as a cold realisation fell upon Thor. He knew. _He knew_.

“ _Loki, move_ ,” bellowed Thor.

Thor dove before his Jotun form. He barely found time to face Laufey as the blade penetrated his chest, and – as the illusion of the Asgardian form broke – Thor was left staring into the eyes of a man equal parts horrified and terrified. Laufey stood with eyes wide; he pulled back his arm with the blade already retreating, as he looked to Loki with parted lips and unshed tears threatening to spill down his cheeks. It was clear he thought this Loki the illusion. It was clear he sought to force Loki to bear the truth. It was clear it backfired.

The pain in his chest was intense, although . . . strange. It throbbed and ached with a heavy pressure, like a weight that could not be lifted, while – as he glanced down – he saw the blood leave in spurts and grew dizzy . . . light-headed . . . he laughed in shock, as his blurred eyes looked to Laufey and saw red on blue skin. The wound stung. He choked back pained sobs, while he grew breathless . . . unable to draw in enough breath to focus . . .

Thor dropped to his knees before Laufey. The Jotun king stepped back, with his face grimaced in disgust, while blood poured out and threatened to stain his feet as red as his hands, and Thor – ever paler – collapsed onto his side while tears spilled. He laughed, as he closed his eyes and thought to his family . . . _‘you have nothing to fear, my son’, ‘a wise king knows how to choose his battles’, ‘are you honestly going to worry about_ that _’ . . ._ he would be unable to protect them . . . unable to help them. The blood poured. It hurt.

“Thor? _Thor_!” Loki cried. “Wake up, you great oaf!”

He opened his eyes. Loki knelt before him; he lifted his head so that it rested on his lap, where the cool leather froze already cold skin, and – drawing in a raspy gasp of air – Thor looked into red eyes and saw tears spill freely down blue skin. Thor raised his hand. He stroked at Loki’s cheek, smearing blood across his face as fingers lingered, and yet the skin he expected to burn him only provided a comfort unlike any other. A tear ran down the side of his face in turn, as he realised Loki’s would be the last face he ever saw. Thor whispered:

“I – I will always love you, Brother.”

The world finally went black.

 

 


	18. Chapter 18

Loki screamed.

The sound pierced his ears and tore his throat, until the pain turned his scream into choked and gasped cries, and – as he buried his fingers into Thor’s hair – the hand on his cheek fell limp and lifeless to his side, where his body grew ever cold. Loki struggled to breathe. The tears fell on his lips, leaving him with the bitter taste of salt, while his throat closed and clenched with bile and acid, as he panted for breathe and shook his head.

He stroked at Thor’s cheeks with a trembling hand, as a shaky smile came to his lips and his whispered forth ‘Thor’ over and over, and – as the mantra provided a small comfort – it didn’t shake the heavy weight in the pit of his stomach. Loki closed Thor’s eyes. He gently lay his brother down, while the blood stained his hands red and saturated his clothes, and the fabric clung to his skin as he struggled to stand. Loki swayed, as he gasped for breath and laughed a broken and inhuman laugh that echoed about the four walls. Tears continued to fall.

Laufey stepped back with a sneer, while blood dripped from his fingers. The lingering silence was broken only by the laughs of the other Jotun, along with the slow breaths of the Allfather, and – as Loki panted hard for breath – he looked with narrowed and tear-stained eyes to the murderer of his brother. He curled his lip and bared his teeth, while hands scrambled for the daggers hidden in the folds of his coat. Gungnir lay by his feet.

“That was my brother,” hissed Loki.

He gripped the hilt of his daggers until his hands grew numb, even as knuckles turned white and the leather strips tore until his nails, and – glaring at Laufey – he stepped forward until they were but a few inches apart. The stench of Laufey’s breath hit him hard, even as his vision blurred and he grew light-headed. Laufey was cold in his presence, enough that he seemed to radiate a cool temperature, and the Jotun king lowered his head and leaned into Loki’s personal space, as he locked eyes with him in an act of intimidation.

“It is said that the Allfather can still hear and see what transpires around him,” said Laufey in a low voice. “Even in this state, he is still aware. I hope and pray for it to be true, so that he may know the death of his son came by the hand of Laufey.”

A whistle echoed through the air. Loki ignored it at first, too disorientated and too light-headed to make sense of the sound that grew louder and louder, and his heart raced so loud that every thud of his pulse sounded almost external. He buried his fingers into his hair, while adrenaline coursed through every vein and the daggers barely remained in his grip, and yet – as he glared atLaufey – he caught the strange sensation . . . _the Odinforce . . ._

The doors remained open. The fellow Jotun to one side. Thor lay prone and broken just to Loki’s side, where his cold body forced Loki to double over through nausea and pain, and yet – as he looked up – a familiar object appeared at the far end of the hallway, where it raced closer and closer and closer. A spark of hope struck him. Loki let out a choked gasp, as he stumbled a few steps away from Thor and panted for breath. _Mjölnir._ A hand shot into the air, as the familiar hammer dove into the hand of its true owner, and the rush of air chilled him.

Loki looked to his brother, along with both Jotun. A flush of colour returned to those cheeks, while the open wound – angry and red beneath shredded armour – knitted itself together with a raised scar that would forever remain. Loki lowered his hands with a broken laugh; tears ran down his cheeks as he choked on his laughter, while the daggers remained held tight in his grasp, and the relief clashes with his terror and grief into one unbearable emotion.

“The boy survives,” muttered Laufey.

“No, that _man_ lives and that _prince_ has endured.”

Loki looked into the eyes of Laufey, who – in his distraction - remained focussed on Thor. It was all that Loki needed. He watched as Laufey curled his lip, cocking his head to one side, and he saw how Laufey stepped back in caution while Thor threw himself upright with a huge inhale of breath. Thor nearly died. _He nearly lost Thor_. Laufey stood there so innocent . . . so arrogant . . . he held no regrets, only for the son he once lost, and ceased to care over the brother Loki nearly mourned. _Anger. Disgust_. Loki screamed out:

“And your death came by the son of Odin!”

The blade sliced into firm flesh. Loki locked eyes with Laufey; he watched the shock and horror overwhelm those red eyes, while the blue skin paled and thick lips parted, and – as a dying gasp escaped his gurgling throat – Laufey stumbled back and collapsed. The blood lingered on Loki’s hands. He panted for breath, as his lips curled and his eyes narrowed, and he stood stock still to watch as the last spark of life drain from that Jotun body.  

Loki failed to notice the other Jotun. He could not look away from Laufey, as his heart raced and muscles tensed, and – as that very last breath parted from now cold lips – he smiled and spat at the cold corpse of the man who abandoned him. A roar came from beside him; he barely noticed as the shadows of Thor and the Jotun moved in his peripheral vision, but there was no ignoring the sparks of lightning and the crash of thunder. It danced in his eye-line. It light up the room and brought the bedchambers to life. The two men collided.

He listened as hammer struck bone. He kept his eyes locked on Laufey, even as Thor grunted and panted for breath, and – as he _finally_ was able to look away from Laufey’s remains – he turned to see Thor standing over the other Jotun. The bulging muscles and furrowed brow spoke of intense rage, while he looked in full health, with only the blood stain to prove that he endured a fate close to death. He looked to Loki and whispered:

“Loki, are you okay?”

Loki laughed. The body of three Jotun lay before them, while Frigga slowly stirred against the wall, and the stench of iron hung heavy in the air, even as Thor marched towards him and took his face in both hands. It was a rough touch, with the callused fingers scratching his smooth skin, and yet they were so warm . . . so _alive_. . . the blood on Loki began to dry, a mixture of Laufey and Thor, and it served as a reminder of all that was nearly lost.

The grief struck him as hard as a physical blow, as he nuzzled into those hands with tears streaming down his cheeks, and – with such heavy rage and fear – he gripped hard the daggers in his hands, while fingers clung to the leather strips about the hilt. A broken cry escaped Loki’s lips, as he lifted his hand from his hip and drove it into Thor’s side. He kept the blow shallow and away from major organs, but Thor roared out in pain and stumbled back, while placing a hand on his wound to stem the minor blood loss. Thor growled out:

“ _What are you doing_?”

“Only _I_ am allowed to kill you,” spat Loki. “You – You – You _stupid_ –”

Loki wept in earnest, as sheer rage overcame him. He lifted his hand high with dagger in hand and drove it down, stopped only as Thor caught him by his wrist and gripped hard. It bruised his already blue skin. Thor glared at Loki and pushed him back. The silence was broken only by Loki’s choked sobs, until Thor softened his stance and pulled Loki flush against him, and soon they were locked in a warm embrace. Loki dropped his daggers.

“I am here, Loki,” promised Thor. “I am here.”

They held onto one another. Loki wrapped his arms around Thor, gripping at the red fabric of his cape while Thor buried his fingers into Loki’s hair, and together they stood for a long few minutes simply relishing in each other’s presence. He barely noticed as Frigga struggled to her feet, grasping at the wall for balance and panting for breath, and yet he listened as she smoothed out her dress and stumbled over to them and placed a warm hand on his shoulder. Loki let go of Thor. He threw himself at her and wept into her neck.

It reminded him of his childhood. He caught the scent of her perfume, while her soft hands smoothed out his rough curls of hair, and he felt the vibrations of her chest as she hummed an old tune from his youth. Loki wept. Thor placed his hands on Loki’s shoulders, standing beside him with a loud sigh and a few muttered curses, until Frigga took Loki’s face in her hands and forced him to look at her, even as his vision blurred and eyes stung.

The lines about her eyes deepened, as tears threatened to spill down her cheeks. There was no smile. There was no meeting of their eyes. He noted how she looked at his lips, as if afraid to meet his gaze, and a terrible sickness overcame him as he saw the blue skin to his hands and looked to her with eyes wide in terror. The reaction was instantaneous; Frigga smiled a weak and broken smile, as she shook her head and pressed a chaste kiss to his forehead, and stood back to take his hands in hers and clasped them together. Frigga whispered:

“What have you done, Loki?”

“I – I never meant to lose Thor,” wept Loki. “I swear to you! I never meant for this; he – he has returned to us, our father’s magic has saved him, but I have done what _none_ of you could! I have killed the monster. I have _destroyed_ Laufey once and for all! I am . . . I am worthy, surely? What more could Father ask? I have done the impossible.”

“I can only be grateful that this is all that you have done.” Frigga squeezed hard upon his hands. “If you had done more, you may have faced the executioner’s blade. I am not sure I could save you should you have crossed such lines. These deeds alone – the risk you brought upon all of us – may be enough to have you sentenced to the dungeons. Oh, Loki . . .”

Frigga stepped back to gaze at the remains. The doors remained wide open, while the guards outside slumped over with no signs of life, and – despite how the blood clung to the hem of her skirts and the tips of her fingers – she sought for a pulse on each of them. It was a fruitless cause. Frigga let out a shuddered sigh, as she closed their eyes and allowed a tear to fall. Loki stepped over one of the Jotun, but kicked Laufey’s remains out of his way, and came beside her to help her to stand. Frigga brought a hand to her mouth and asked:

“Why would you do this?”

Loki closed his eyes and cast the illusion. Bile rose to his throat, as a horrific fear prevented him from opening his eyes once more, and – as tears and sweat stung his eyes – he drew in shallow and staggered breaths, before he finally dared to look down at his form. The skin was white. There were no markings. He let out a choked laugh that stole away his last breath, as he sagged his shoulders and threw back his head with fresh tears of relief. The skin was still cool and cold, but the illusion was perfect. Loki looked Asgardian.

“Loki, you must speak,” pleaded Frigga.

“When all is said and done, I sought for a permanent peace between our two worlds,” admitted Loki. “I wanted that I – _the bastard son_ – could achieve what Odin and Thor never could, and I wanted to rid myself of the man that – that – that _cursed_ me with this existence as a Jotun monster! I wanted Father to be proud of me. I wanted to have him know that I both destroyed Laufey and brokered peace with those that remained on Jotunheim.”

“That is all?” Thor asked. “If I had not been here . . . if you had not experienced my loss, had you endured me as a rival . . . would you seriously have not taken this further? I know you, Loki. You would not have declared war upon Jotunheim? You would not have set the Bifrost upon them to destroy their realm? You truly would have been happy at this alone?”

“Does it matter, Thor? I have closed all the passageways I once used. Only Laufey knew how to access our realm, while the Bifrost is currently closed to all, and our realm is thus isolated until the Allfather chooses to reinstate our connection to other worlds.”

“Loki, look at where your self-loathing had brought us!”

“And look at where your arrogance brought us!”

Thor growled out in frustration; he buried a hand within his blond locks, as his blue eyes moved from the Asgardian guards to the Jotun dead, and he curled his lip as he looked to Loki and pointed a callused finger to their remains. The political ramifications hung heavy in the air, enough that even Thor panted through his rage and paced back and forth, and Loki – realising he would be unable to steal away and broker a truce with Helblindi and Býleistr – swallowed back his dread and kept silent. Thor spat to Frigga a simple question:

“What do we do now?”

Frigga took the sword from the floor, before she sheathed it into the bed. The Odinforce was still strong, while Odin made no sign of truly awakening, and yet – as Loki looked – he was certain that he saw a twitch of a finger and a pursing of those lips. Loki smiled through his tears and sniffed back his pain, as he ran a hand over his mouth and took in a slow breath, but the silence between them was uncomfortable and lingered unlike any other.

“First we must call the guards,” said Frigga.

“Aye?” Loki asked. “So they can arrest me? Imprison me?”

“You are their king and they know not what happened here.” Frigga looked to him with a stern expression. “You are a traitor, Loki; your intentions were selfish, while you put our realm at risk by delivering secrets to the Jotun king, and – thanks to your actions – many of our men lay dead. I must watch their families grieve and mourn. That is not an easy loss. Whatever punishment shall come of this, your father and I will decide.”

“Mother is right,” muttered Thor. “We must lie to the guards. If they ask, we shall tell them that this was an invasion orchestrated by Laufey and none else. I will assume the role of king now that my powers have returned, but I will pass no judgement upon you and allow Father to issue any punishment that must come from your actions. We must move forward.”

“If this is not kept secret, we will fail to control what comes.”

“You mean that the public shall bay for my blood?” Loki shook his head with a laugh. “Why not let them? You clearly have decided upon my guilt! How long do you think my involvement shall remain secret? Even if Father says nothing, Thor will surely tell our friends and they shall surely tell their friends in turn. It will not be secret for long.”

Thor said nothing. He swung Mjölnir in his hand, as if weighing it for the first time, and looked to Loki with such ambivalence that his expression was impossible to decipher, while his eyes hardened and his hands clenched. Loki stood tall, while he eyed the exit and memorised the location of the various remains, but Thor – with slow and steady steps – interrupted his fear with a momentary reassurance. Those fingers wrapped around the back of his neck, while Thor pushed his forehead against Loki’s and said with a sigh:

“I must go to Jotunheim.”

The rough pad of his thumb stroked Loki’s jaw, while his breath warmed Loki’s lips and reminded him that Thor was alive. He leaned into the touch, as he relished the warmth of Asgardian skin against his new form, and gave a broken smile as tears threatened to spill once more. The tear to Thor’s armour was still clear, even as blood stained his skin, and he had been so close to death . . . so close to abandoning Loki . . . only to leave once more.

“Now?” Loki asked. “What purpose will that serve?”

“Your brother must broker peace,” said Frigga.

“I may be gone for some days or weeks,” continued Thor. “I shall take with me those better versed in such politics and diplomacy, but our king has killed their king . . . this will be a crime that cannot go unpunished in their eyes. I will claim that Laufey invaded our realm with no help from any other, as such this was an unprovoked attack. If we have acted in self-defence, we may be able to avoid their attempts to seek war in revenge.

“I will take Fandral and Hogun with me, but I will ask Sif and Volstagg to aid you in providing funerals for these men and putting the minds of our people to rest, and – when Father awakes – we will hopefully have a realm at peace. I do not know how Helblindi will react, but we can only pray he is more reasonable than his father. This cannot wait.”

Loki stepped back. Thor’s hand lingered in the air, with fingers still outstretched in search of him, but – as he dropped his hand – Loki clenched his fists and swallowed hard. It was the duty of a king to engage in debates and discussions, but Thor had made it clear that he sought to act as king in Loki’s place. He looked between brother and mother, as he searched for some hint of deception, but only saw the same pain shared between them. Loki bit his lip and listened to his heart race, while the room grew ever colder. He said in a bitter voice:

“You would take from me my title.”

“A title given to you by your mother,” chided Frigga. “Loki, you are still prince. You shall always be prince, just as you shall always be my son. I ask you – with all my heart – to not make matters worse and to help me with all that has occurred. We must find guards to replace those lost. We must improve security. We must alert their next of kin.

“There – There is also something else. After we have attended to immediate matters, I would ask that you come with me to the healers . . . there is more to be said than just your true heritage, as such I shall have the healers release all information that has been hidden from you, and – if my word alone is not enough – Thor shall demand it as king of Asgard. We must be open and honest, Loki. I will bear no further rifts between our family.”

Loki widened his eyes. He angled his body to Frigga and took a few fast steps towards her, as a smile broke across his features and he laughed in broken relief, and – as he looked briefly to Thor – he saw how Thor looked away to an unfixed point on the wall, with eyes narrowed as if in immense pain. Whatever the news, _Thor knew_. Loki curled his lip and made to speak, but Thor caught his expression and raced toward his side, grabbing his hands and holding them high between them. Thor pressed a kiss to his blood-stained palms and promised:

“I must go, Loki, but know this –”

“That you love me?” Loki asked. “That we are still family?”

Thor quirked an eyebrow with a smile. He continued to hold onto Loki’s hands, as he sank onto one knee and locked eyes with Loki, and – before he could jest a proposal – Loki glared at him in warning, which brought a loud laugh from Thor. The seconds passed by into what felt like minutes, until Thor grew serious and pressed another kiss to Loki’s hands and gripped tight enough to leave marks on his flesh. Thor said in a firm voice:

“You shall always be king to me.”

Loki laughed and let a tear fall, as he helped pull Thor back to his feet. They gazed at each other, both unable to break the ensuing silence, while Loki reached out to fuss about Thor’s uniform and attempt to tidy the rips and stains. It was a fruitless endeavour, but one that provided a mild distraction from the conflict inside him. He gently swatted Thor’s cheek and smiled in turn, while they listened to Frigga’s soft footsteps leave the bedchamber, and – in her absence – Loki pressed a chaste kiss to Thor’s cheek and teased:

“Foolish sentimentality.” 

 


	19. Chapter 19

“You are not to argue with the healers.”

Frigga guided Loki toward the bed; he let out a hiss of breath through flared nostrils, while he climbed onto the many furs and blankets with a scowl, and – as Frigga fluffed many pillows behind him, allowing him to sit upright – he noted that the room was kept cool. The servants did not know of his heritage. He bit into his lip to wonder who decided to lower the temperature and for what reason, while a breeze came through open balcony doors.

It caught at Frigga’s hair and skirts, while goosebumps appeared on her skin, and – as he narrowed his gaze on her – he noticed how she pressed her lips into a thin line, as if trying to hide the small shivers at the cool temperature. The furs and blankets were slowly removed, as he settled back against the pillows and let out a loud sigh. He caught the scent of various jerked meats; it did not appeal to him in the least, especially as he failed to recognise what creatures from which the meat was obtained, but still Frigga left a plate by his side.

Exhaustion swept through him. Thor would now be within Jotunheim, while word was swift to spread that Loki had been removed from his position as king, and even the promises of ‘truth’ fell flat on the lips of all involved. He clenched at his fists and screwed shut his eyes, while he crossed his legs at the ankle and folded his arms. Frigga continued to fuss about the room, before checking the water was iced and chilled and pouring him a glass. Loki asked:

“May I ask _why_ I am to be on bed rest?”

He took the glass from her hands, but curled his lip at the sight. It no longer was uncomfortable to hold, as – despite the illusion of an Asgardian form – his Jotun physiology was designed to withstand temperatures far worse than that of a glass. He took a sip and kept his eyes on her for the entire time, before slamming it down on the bedside table with a glare in her direction, until she looked away with a flush of embarrassment. Frigga sat on the edge of the bed, where the mattress dipped and a low shudder of breath escaped her.

“I asked the healers to leave the news to me,” whispered Frigga.

“Yes, but here I am. Oblivious.”

“The healers believe that Jotun cuisine and Jotun temperatures may aid you.” Frigga smiled a smile that did not quite reach her eyes. “Thor seeks to obtain information from Helblindi that Laufey was unwilling to provide, so we deal with mere speculation and educated deductions, but these – along with a selection of nutrient potions – should aid you well.”

“Last time I looked, Asgardian food was _hardly_ lethal to a Jotun,” spat Loki. “Is this merely an excuse to keep me under house arrest? I – I have lost _everything_ , but here you would lie to me and keep me in the dark a-about . . . about _what_? What worse is there to come?”

“You have neglected yourself in recent weeks, Loki.”

Loki rolled his eyes and snatched at the water. It spilled over the rim, leaving a few droplets on the sheets that spread out to create a small – yet temporary – stain, but he said nothing as he dramatically gestured with his free hand to the glass. He gulped down every last drop of liquid and slammed the glass back on the table, before he smiled a feigned smile that deepened the lines about his face and darkened his cheeks. Frigga narrowed her eyes in unspoken frustration, as he shrugged and folded his arms with a pout. Loki said:

“I have had much on my mind.”

“Indeed, but recent stress has also impacted upon your health,” said Frigga. “You have blood pressure too high for peace of mind, while you are low on well-needed vitamins and minerals essential to your health, and the healers have revealed to me that you have experienced some . . . spotting. They say you have attributed this to haemorrhoids?”

The words hung heavy on the air. The magic crackled about him, as he held back the urge to trash his room with one well-placed explosion of emotion, but – as cathartic as it would be – he would not risk any harm to his mother. He listened as his heart raced, while his breaths came fast and shallow, and he struggled to swallow as his mouth ran dry, until he attempted to throw his legs over the side of the bed and leave her presence. Frigga quickly grabbed at his calves and held them in place, while she dealt him a warning look.

He hazarded a guess that ‘spotting’ referred to the appearance of blood, but her expression was so serious – and her skin so pale – that he almost believed it to be something more than what he assumed, enough that a sweat broke on his skin and he grew light-headed. Loki grabbed at the sheets, using the sensation of fabric on flesh to ground himself, as he leaned forward and blushed wildly despite himself, and snapped in a whisper:

“That is a rather personal question!”

“Loki, there is much you do not know about your heritage.” Frigga continued to firmly grip at his lower legs. “The Allfather always assumed that you led a rather celibate life, and – while I did know otherwise – I knew that you refrained from that specific act for personal reasons, which meant that we had no immediate need to discuss the issue of your fertility.”

“I – You -?” Loki ran a hand over his face. “You think this ‘spotting’ is damage from the rape? I subjected myself all the most humiliating tests imaginable, allowing the healers to poke and prod in places that even I am barely familiar. I am fully healed.”

“How is that you can be so astute about to everyone but yourself?”

Frigga looked away with tears in her eyes. He quirked an eyebrow and threw back his head, while he gnawed at his lips and tried to hold his tongue, but the invasion of his privacy was too much to bear, even as he strove to process the events from the past few weeks. Frigga was a warm presence beside him; it was almost a comfort to feel her hands on his legs, the pressure firm even through the thick leather, and yet it was a paternal touch and one designed only to keep him in place. A part of him missed the touches of Thor. Frigga confessed:

“You are _pregnant_ , Loki.”

The words echoed in his mind. Loki opened wide his eyes, as he slowly sat upright without the support of the pillows . . . _you are pregnant_. . . he hunched over, crossing his legs, while he raised his hands to tent over his mouth . . . _pregnant_. . . he struggled for breath. He turned his gaze to Frigga, but she was unable to meet his eyes. Loki smiled. It was an eerie smile, one borne from shock and horror, and he laughed despite himself until – _finally_ – she looked him in the eye and he saw that she was serious. He paled. His mouth opened.

It was too much to endure; his heart raced so loud and fast that his chest physically hurt, while pinpricks of pain covered his entire body, and soon his skin felt as if it were crawling, as if insects were amassing on his flesh and walking over him. A cold sweat caused his clothes to cling to him, almost painfully pealing with every movement. He struggled to breathe, as his mouth ran dry and his body swayed with the dizziness of panic.

“No,” said Loki. “No, that is impossible.”

He looked down to see his fingers closing into fists, as if guided physically by another, and each time he fought back the unconscious moving . . . fought back the crawling . . . fought back the light-headedness . . . he grew ever more powerless. Loki glared at Frigga. He grabbed at her shoulder and gripped hard enough that he feared he might cause her pain, but already her image was blurred before him through the tears that stung at his eyes. The way his eyes could not focus – spots appearing on his vision – frightened him. Loki screamed:

“Tell me that it is impossible!”

“The Jotun has only one gender,” said Frigga. “I have found the best explanation is that the rectum acts similar to the oesophagus, with a small fold or flap of skin like the epiglottis, and – on stimulation to the prostate – this flap of skin will move, so that seed will be deposited into the womb as opposed to the lower intestine. The Jotun pregnancy is six months in total, with the Jotun most fertile during winter, as more food exists in summer to sustain the babe.

“We do not know anything further, as Laufey would only give us such knowledge in exchange for you, which is why we could not tell you sooner. We did not know whether our emergency contraception would be dangerous for you, just as we do not know whether an abortion would be terminal or jeopardise your fertility, and we were . . . lost.”

“You – You – You made that choice for me,” whispered Loki.

“Would you truly have returned to Jotunheim simply to rid yourself of this child? Would you have truly risk your life to abort this child?” Frigga let her tears fall from her eyes. “No, Loki, even if this child is abhorrent to you -? Your father and I would rather you endure this burden than to lose you or risk you harm. You are _our_ priority. You are our _son_.”

Loki looked to his stomach. He laughed through the irony; the love that Frigga bore him despite him being borne by another, while he could only endure contempt for the parasite that stole nutrients from inside him. Loki collapsed back against the pillows. He laughed as he wept, shaking his head to and from while he choked and spluttered and retched, and Frigga – whispering his name over and over – eased him onto his side and patted him firmly on his back. The position eased him just enough to allow him breath. He started to hyperventilate.

“Thor – Thor _raped_ me,” said Loki. “I was not ‘stimulated’ by that!”

He thought to her words. He thought to the rape itself. There was a brief memory of a momentary shock of pleasure, as Thor struck on parts of him that he never knew were there, and the horror . . . the shame . . . memories forced into the recesses of his mind. Frigga slowly worked at his clothing, desperate to loosen the tight leathers from his chest in hopes of aiding his breath, and yet she said the five words that harmed more than they helped:

“Involuntary stimulation is still stimulation.”

Loki pushed her away and ran towards the _en suite_. He barely found time to stumble to the water basin before he threw up the contents of his food, and – grateful for the earlier water – he watched as acid and scraps of food combined to one horrific mess. The contractions of his oesophagus and stomach were painful, while the bile burned the back of his throat, and the sickening stench of vomit only added to the nausea and horror of his situation.

He collapsed onto the tiles below and dragged himself to the bathtub. Loki leaned back and let the cold iron cool his skin, while he listened to Frigga run to and fro with fast-paced comments, and soon there was the sound of running water . . . motherly sobs of concern . . . clothes were pealed from his body, while he sat pliant and limp with no argument. He allowed her to guide him into cold waters, which brought a great sigh of contentment, and he sank deep into the waters only to re-emerge with black hair clinging to his skull. The scent of perfumes in the water calmed him, as he sobbed and looked to Frigga to ask:

“Was this his plan all along?”

“Loki, please.” Frigga begged: “Don’t.”

“Let us marry the trophy bride to the Asgardian prince.” Loki laughed through his tears. “I was the blood of an Asgardian princess and a Jotun King, so what better prize could have truly been won? Use me. Wed me. _Breed_ me. I would unite two nations by bearing forth the offspring of the Allfather’s heir. Is this all I am worth? Have I fulfilled my purpose?”

Frigga threw her arms around him. The water on his upper body caused her sleeves to stick to him, while the excess fabric dipped into the waters and quickly grew soaked, and yet she made no complaint and simply wept against him, her head buried close in his neck. He felt her wracked sobs and listened to her cries, until she pulled back and tried to compose herself for his sake alone. Two warm hands pressed themselves to his wet cheeks, while she turned his head to hers and smiled so warmly that her eyes crinkled. Frigga whispered:

“There may still be time for you to make a choice.”

“How?” Loki retched and sobbed. “ _How_?”

“Thor may yet negotiate the information we need,” said Frigga. “If this is the case, it is possible we could end this pregnancy and prevent you further trauma. It is true that this child could have brought war under Laufey’s rule, but Helblindi and Býleistr are his heirs and Helblindi will likely assume the throne. There may be no desire for them to lay claim to this child as an heir, particularly as it will only be a quarter Jotun in blood.”

“This – This _thing_ is a child born of incest and rape! I know that I am as much to blame as Thor, but what life could either of us possibly give this child? If we are to avoid a stigma, one of us must deny parentage and hide from the public our part in its life, but do you think that Thor would agree to such terms? What will the child think when it uncovers the truth?”

“You would not need to tell them.”

“Aye, look how good _that_ turned out for _you_.”

Loki pushed her away with a wet hand. He saw how her muscles tensed, as she froze with mouth partially open and eyes wide, but – as she soon hunched her shoulders – the smile returned to her lips and she busied herself about the bathroom. It was a coping mechanism he remembered well from his childhood; clothes were folded into neat piles, while the basin was cleaned out and scented to hide the stench of vomit, and she even contented herself by organising his toiletries and personal items. He sank into the waters.

They warmed too quickly to his skin, bringing forth a curse as he pulled the plug and ran colder water to replace the liquid lost, and – as he felt it swirl about his feet – he looked down to the pouch of skin about his stomach. It was barely visible, nothing more than perhaps a few extra servings of food or a lack of stringent exercise, and yet he knew the truth and his hands clawed at his skin until long red lines appeared. Frigga said from across the room:

“Whatever you decide, you will always have our support.”

“Will Thor think the same way? Father?”

“Thor swore to love this child, should you decide to continue the pregnancy.” Frigga blinked away tears with a sad smile. “We had little time to talk before he departed to Jotunheim, but I do believe that he will be willing to parent this child to the best of his ability, but he would not deny you the choice to remain in their life or to be apart from them. You have choices.”

Loki plugged the bathtub with his foot; red streams ran from his stomach, but the claw-marks were shallow and the blood would soon stop, and yet he thought to the blood and pain that would come forth during the birth. He ran his hands over his cut stomach and inner thighs and even his genitalia, grateful for the high walls of the bathtub and Frigga’s distance across the room, and drew his hands away in sheer disgust at the thought of childbirth. The tears formed at his eyes, as the nausea and dizziness returned. He buried his hands into his hair.

“I would like to be alone now,” spat Loki.

Frigga refused to make his eye, but instead drew a small stool beside the door. He watched as she sat carefully on its soft cushions, while smoothing her skirts and carefully reaching for some towels beside her, which she placed on her lap ready for when Loki might require them. It was an unbearable assumption. Loki choked back on his tears, as he raised a trembling hand to his lips and let the tears obscure his vision. Frigga made to rise, but he threw out his spare hand and pointed harshly in her direction, even as she confessed:

“You know that cannot be an option.”

“Then tell me, what would you do in my situation?” Loki smiled through his tears. “I did not envision my purpose in life to be that of a vessel for an heir borne of incest! Will I be able to live with myself if I abort this – this . . . this _creature_? Thor will never be able to look at me again, even if he claims to forgive me, which he shall. What about myself? Will I look to children in the future and think ‘my child would be that age now’?

“If I have this child, will I resent them? Will I look into their eyes and be reminded of the rape that took place or the horror I feel now? How can I love them when I cannot even love myself? What if they hate me for making them every bit of the monster that I am? I – I am _cursed_ with this – this – this _monstrosity_ and for what -? Because of your lies!”

“Loki, that isn’t fair,” chided Frigga. “We did what we thought right.”

“What you thought right has _ruined_ my life.”

Loki threw himself back in the tub. The porcelain struck his back with a harsh thud, while water spilled over the sides, and – as he slid down, hiding beneath the surface for as long as his breath would allow – he re-emerged only to choke and retch and cough, laughing once more through his tears and unable to focus on anything else. He watched himself as if through the eyes of another, while his limbs ached and trembled. Frigga stood from her stool, barely suppressing her desire to weep, as she nodded to him and whispered:

“I shall have Volstagg tend to you in my stead.”

Frigga left with soft footsteps, but a quick and steady pace. The guilt ate at him. He hunched over and growled out in frustration, feeling her absence more than any other, and – as he dug his fingernails harshly into his skull – he knew his privacy would be short-lived. Volstagg would soon be there to dry him and dress him and put him to sleep, all the while watching over him like a defenceless babe, and after that they would all desire answers from him.

Loki did all that he could do:

He wept.

 

 


	20. Chapter 20

“Loki, you are here!”

Thor ran across the bedroom. He threw his arms around Loki and held him tight, enough that small gasps emitted from his smaller frame, and Thor – with a blush – let go and stepped back with hands raised in surrender. Loki drew in a long breath. He brushed down his pale green pyjamas with rough gestures, while he glared at Thor with narrowed eyes, and nothing was said for the longest few seconds as the cool breeze swept through the room.

The bed itself was deprived of blankets and furs, but Loki still appeared warm even despite how extreme the cold was within his rooms, and Thor noted a small sweat on his forehead, almost hidden by black hair loose and somewhat longer than before. There was a selection of papers and parchments all around the bed, along with books and documents, and it was clear that – even despite his bed rest – Loki strove to do as much work as possible while obeying the rules of the healers. Inkwells still sat fresh and wet on the bedside table.

Thor smiled and embraced Loki once more. The armour on his body was still cold from Jotunheim, with the frost on metal still barely defrosting into a dew, and Loki – despite his complaints – sighed in relief and allowed himself to be held. Thor loosened his grip this time, too afraid of harming the unborn child, but he knew better than to voice such a fear aloud lest Loki claim his priorities lie with said child. Loki hummed and muttered:

“It has only been three weeks.”

Thor gently eased Loki from his frame. He took Loki’s cheeks in his hands, while he brushed light circles with the pads of his thumbs, and allowed tears to gather in the corner of his eyes, as he glanced down to see a swelling so small that it was barely noticeable. Loki pressed his hands to Thor’s chest armour, but – as it warmed and the frost fully melted – he dropped his arms to his sides and looked up to Thor to follow his gaze downward, where he pursed his lips into a white line and flared his nostrils with a hiss of breath. Thor whispered:

“Three weeks is a long time.”

“For a child, yes,” said Loki. “For a foetus, no.”

“It is a long time for _us_.” Thor held tighter on him. “I left knowing that they would tell you the news, but never knowing how you would react or what you might decide, and I came straight to your rooms on my return. I ignored Mother. I ignored Volstagg. I did not want to hear from their lips what you could tell me, so please . . . tell me.”

The silence that followed was unbearable. Loki removed Thor’s hands from his cheeks; Thor could only watch helplessly as Loki wandered over to his bed, where he climbed onto the mattress and crawled down to sit back on a mountain of pillows. He crossed his legs at the ankles and folded his arms, as Thor noted how he lay barefoot without any care for his appearance. There were bags under his eyes and his cheeks were pale.

Thor swallowed back his concern, as he walked over to the bed. He stood at the side while Loki closed his eyes and dropped back his head, evidently ignoring the world around him, and – even as Thor’s heart began to race and his muscles tensed – he lightly slapped at Loki’s leg and signalled with his thumb for Loki to move over. Loki ignored him. It brought a spark of anger to Thor, who hissed out a long breath and waited in silence, even as his hands opened and closed in search of some distraction. Eventually, Loki conceded.

There was a loud scoff. There was a visible roll of his eyes. Loki slid over, struggling to carry his various pillows with him, and – with a loud curse – fought to get them into an exact position and pattern that was clearly more comfortable than it appeared. He cursed again to throw a pillow in Thor’s direction, while Thor climbed onto the bed with a dip of the mattress and a heavy thud as he threw himself back against the headboard. Thor asked quietly:

“May I -?”

He gestured toward Loki’s stomach. Thor kept a close watch on the small swell, as he strove to keep some distance from Loki lest he overheat, and – as Loki followed his gesture – a spark of hope and fear coursed through him in equal measure. Loki said nothing, even as he ran a hand over his face with a heavy sigh. Thor strove to remain patient. He half-raised his hand even as his fingers twitched, while he gnawed at his lip and let out a shuddered breath, but still he refrained from acting without Loki’s consent. The silence lingered.

“Do not make it a habit,” said Loki.

Thor laughed. The relief washed over him; all tension fled from his muscles, as he dropped his shoulders and warmth returned to his limbs, and – without hesitation – threw out his hand to rub circles on Loki’s stomach. A smile broke over his lips. The fabric provided an unwanted obstacle, so he slid his hand beneath to rest on cool skin, and he kept his hand still to simply relish in one realisation: this was his child. Thor blinked away tears as he asked:

“What have you decided?”

“I am tempted to be mean,” confessed Loki. “I would be curious as to your expression should I tell you that I have already aborted, and that you are fussing and fawning over what is merely nothing more than an excess of weight, but – I must confess – I am in no mood to see you so devastated after you have endured do much. The child is still there for now.”

“For now?” Thor furrowed his brow. “Do you mean to abort? I – I was able to negotiate from Helblindi all the information you would need to either abort or to continue this pregnancy, so whatever you choose . . . we will be able to proceed. Is your intent -?”

“There are risks, Thor. I have decided to continue this pregnancy under two conditions, but you must know that there are _risks_. You are my biological cousin, while I have been under immense stress and have neglected my health, and this climate is hardly conducive to a safe pregnancy in regards to my current needs. This physiology of mine makes many demands while it is with child. I crave the cold. I am not yet at the safety mark.”

Thor let out a hiss of breath. He kept his hand on Loki, while he allowed his eyes to move across the room, and – as he struggled to control his breathing – he saw the various medicinal bottles collected about the various tables. There was a cloth with some blood on one chair, while medical books were strewn about the floor, and Thor screwed closed his eyes in hopes that the evidence should vanish when he reopened them. A deep pit of nausea brewed in his stomach, while a cold sweat broke over his body. The fear of losing the child was real.

“You fear a miscarriage,” observed Thor.

He gently removed his hand. The idea of a child already felt so real, enough that he could picture long black hair and bright blue eyes, and – as tears fell – he realised he already imagined teaching them how to fight while Loki taught them how to negotiate, so that between them it would learn all there was to be queen or king. Thor pulled Loki against him, letting Loki rest his head on his shoulder. Loki muttered in a quiet voice:

“Clearly, you want to keep it.”

“Do not say that as if it were a bad thing!” Thor laughed through tears. “I know this is not what either of us planned for our immediate future, but I cannot deny that I am excited to become a father and already attached to the idea of a child. Do not let me race ahead, Loki! I know that we have more pressing concerns. You said you had two conditions?”

“No,” said Loki. “First I desire your opinion.”

“My opinion on what?”

“I want to know whether you wish for me to keep this child.” Loki sighed and nuzzled closer. “Do you grow so excited because you fear I have made my choice? I know you, Thor. You would support me regardless of my actions. I could wipe out Jotunheim and you would seek to save me. I could try to rule Midgard and you would excuse me. I could betray you a thousand times over and still you would return to me. Speak to me with truth, Thor.

“Do you truly with to be reminded of our rape? If I bear this child, it will be a constant reminder of what we endured. Do you care for sleepless nights? Do you have the patience for temper tantrums? What about when it understands the concept of ‘incest’? What about when it asks of its conception? What if you choose to start a family? What then?”

Thor held Loki close against him. He ran a hand through black hair and noted how long it had grown, even in the space of a few weeks, and – in turn – he tried to imagine stroking the hair of another or lying next to a stranger, but such images were blurred and vague. It brought a blush to his cheeks, as he buried his nose against Loki’s hair and breathed deep the aroma of various perfumes and incenses. Loki was his brother; they could never be anything more, yet he could honestly not envision a child with anything less. Thor confessed:

“Those are questions I have not asked.”

“Precisely,” said Loki. “It is why I must still consider an abortion. At the moment, this is nothing more than a collection of cells rapidly forming into some semblance of life, but what happens should I allow for a child to be born only for it to become a burden? It is why I must take into consideration your opinion, Thor. I will not decide on this alone.”

“You said you have conditions on keeping this child?” Thor furrowed his brow and pursed his lips. “First, tell me what you would insist upon. I cannot make an informed decision unless I know all facts, but know this, Loki: this is _your_ body. If you expect the entire decision to fall upon my shoulders -? That I will not accept. If you agree to keep this child simply as I wish for that, you could live to regret that decision always.”

“You think rather highly of yourself,” mocked Loki. “I said I would give _consideration_ to your opinion, but not that I would base all of my choices around your demands. I am barely coping with this – this – this _parasite_ as it stands, so do not make matters worse.”

“You think it a good choice to birth a ‘parasite’?”

Thor gripped tight at Loki’s pyjama top. The fabric wrinkled in his hands, while he hissed out a loud exhale of breath, and – in truth – a part of him thought it better for the child to never be born than to believe itself a ‘parasite’. He breathed fast and deep; there was a taste of blood, as he bit into his lip and gritted his teeth, and yet he held ever tighter to Loki even as his eyes narrowed and his blood ran cold. Muscles bulged. Shoulders tensed.

The cold breeze continued in from the open balcony doors. The fires were no more than old coals, white and withered, and clearly no heat had been in these chambers for some time, but Loki – with no sign of discomfort, no steam of breath – pulled back from Thor and looked him in the eye with a firm gaze. Thor shivered in both cold and frustration. He threw himself off the bed and moved in search of the furs and blankets, but he half-suspected that Frigga removed them to some far storage cupboard out of Loki’s reach. Loki called out to him:

“Do you honestly wish to know what I think?”

“Yes,” spat Thor. “I do!”

“I think that I will be unable to love this child,” admitted Loki. “That was – _in fact_ – my first condition upon birthing this creature; _you_ shall be their primary guardian, _you_ shall take sole custody of them, and _you_ shall not expect anything from me. I know how much you and Mother would love this child, as such I know it would be given a good life, and – honestly – while I could gladly abort any child of mine . . . this is _your_ child . . . my nephew.”

“You could love a child of mine, but no child of yours?”

“I know that this shall be a child of both, Thor.” Loki ran a hand over his face. “It is why I feel conflicted and why my decision was so difficult to make, but that is why your opinion matters so much to me, because this will be my _nephew_ that I bear forth and if he is unwanted or unloved then it makes this sacrifice pointless. What say you, Thor?”

“I say it could well be a ‘niece’.” Thor laughed as Loki glared at him. “I am sorry! I should not jest, but if I am honest with you -? I would love this child even more than I love you, which is a feat that I never thought possible. They will be loved, I promise you.”

“Very well, then allow me to confess my second condition.”

Thor found an old set of furs from Loki’s dressing room. They were stashed high on an old shelf, taken from Loki’s first hunt and kept as a souvenir, and – very likely – overlooked by Frigga in her attempts to remove anything that would provide warmth. They had a musty smell and a layer of dust on the small part exposed to the air, but the dust was soon shook away and Thor returned to the bed, where he threw himself beside Loki and drew the furs about his body. Loki rolled his eyes and continued as if there were no interruption:

“Never lie to them about their heritage.”

The words lingered in the air. Thor paused in his attempt to smooth out the furs, although he was forced to swat Loki’s hand when he attempted to also hide beneath them, and his eyes fell on Loki only to see how Loki refused to meet his gaze. There was a flush to his cheeks, while his green eyes were clouded with unshed tears, and Thor was forced to reach out to clasp his neck with a gentle touch, as he leaned his forehead against Loki’s. Thor asked:

“What would you have me tell them?”

“I care not,” said Loki. “I simply will not have any nephew of mine suffer as I suffered, and I will _gladly_ skewer you alive should you keep any secrets that are owed them. He will be a quarter-Jotun, and – yes – almost certainly male if his Jotun physiology proves dominant, and you would have him grow to hate himself as I hate that part of him . . . of _us_?”

“Very well, I will abide your conditions under one condition of my own.” Thor let out a long sigh. “You will see the healers about your self-hatred. If this is depression or anxiety, I would have you talk to those that could counsel you through this and teach you to cope.”

“You seriously think I would agree to that?”

“I think you have no choice.”

Loki attempted to pull back, but Thor held him close. The breath on Thor’s lips was cool, as if Loki was incapable of warm breath, and he caught the scent of salted meats that were usually Loki’s least favourite food. Loki knitted his eyebrows until lines deepened on his forehead, while he pulled back just enough for Thor to gain a true view of his face, and – so close together – Thor blushed and swallowed hard. He waited for Loki to speak, even as he pulled back his hand and let it drop onto the furs. Loki snapped in a cold voice:

“Fine, you raise the child and I seek therapy.”

“So we have decided?” Thor asked. “You will carry the child and I shall raise them. I will not pressure you to play the part of a parent, nor shall I expect that, and I shall also swear to be honest to them about their heritage. In return, you will seek help. You will speak to those that can ease your pain. All else we can negotiate in the months to come.”

“Very well,” said Loki. “Now what about Jotunheim?”

“You would talk politics? Here? Now?”

Loki reached over Thor toward the beside-table. He took a variety of papers into hand, only for Thor to snatch them out of his grasp and put them back, and – with no further words – the tension between them built and the anger returned. Loki curled his lip and clenched his hands, before he tried to quickly grab at the papers once more, only for Thor to hold his wrist and force back his hand. He knew that ‘bed-rest’ meant ‘rest’. Politics had no place for one that was carrying a child and in such a precarious state of health. Loki commanded:

“Tell me about Jotunheim!”

The illusion of an Asgardian form shimmered; Thor said nothing as he caught a glance of red eyes and patterned skin, but soon the usual form was returned and Loki slid away from Thor with wide eyes and paled skin. He looked sickened by the slip of control. He threw up a hand to keep Thor at a distance, while he drew in deep breaths and sat back amongst the pillows and cushions, before he eventually found the courage to utter in a whisper:

“I _am_ still an Asgardian prince.”

“You would make a good king,” observed Thor. “You are too much like Father; you would put the lives of many before the lives of a few, while the lives of a few are still greater in worth than the lives of just one. Is it not ironic? I wanted the throne too much, while you were reluctant to take the throne at all, but who proved to be the better ruler? If I am to be king, Loki, I ask that you be by my side as my adviser and right-hand. I beg you.”

“If you are sincere, trust me in that I need to know our current political situation.” Loki sat back and folded his arms. “We have just over four months until this child arrives, but I would not have them arrive into a world at war. If you are to be king then you must put your realm first. Tell me what happened during your three weeks upon Jotunheim.”

“Helblindi has taken the throne,” said Thor.

“Oh, is that all? Well, clearly nothing more needs to be said.”

“Is that hormones already I hear?” Thor winced as Loki struck him hard on his arm. “ _You do not need to resort to violence_! I jest. I jest! I managed to convince them that Laufey used the knowledge you taught to invade our realm, of which you played no part, and war was thus avoided as they proved to be the instigators by law. We otherwise communicated well.

“We promised to eventually return the Casket, should they prove themselves trustworthy, but the exact terms of this have yet to be fixed, and they were willing to provide us all the information we needed upon your physiology and pregnancy. Hogun was able to assist in arranging trade deals, while Fandral arranged for tributes to be paid to the Jotun whose lives were lost, and – in return – we negotiated a great deal many perks and a promise of peace.”

Loki grunted in acknowledgement, as he slid down the bed to lie down. He rested his head on the pillows, while his hair splayed out about him like a halo, and he crossed his legs at the ankles and folded his hands across his stomach. Thor said nothing, even as Loki stared hard at the ceiling with pursed lips that moved as if he chewed back harsh words, until – with a long sigh of reluctance – he rolled onto his side and looked up to Thor with fatigue apparent across his expression. Thor smiled down at him, half-tempted to touch his stomach.

“You did well,” confessed Loki.

“I will give you more details later, but that is the basic gist.”

“A basic ‘gist’ is not enough.” Loki grunted and closed his eyes. “You will also need to talk with them about how to deal with the matter of my biological parentage, as Mother made the valid point that I will need to out myself to our people should I choose to come forward with the pregnancy, as they will question how it to be possible. Even if I do not, my biological brothers and so many of their inner circles know . . . as do our inner circle.”

“That may raise complications,” confessed Thor. “There are some who live in ignorance and employ backward beliefs, as such they would claim us no longer brothers and potentially push for matrimony, which I know you would not want. There are also those who may not accept a Jotun prince, due to deep-rooted prejudices. It may cause more harm than good.”

“So even now you think I should be ashamed of being Jotun?”

“That is not what I am saying, Brother!”

Thor pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. It took him a long few seconds to compose himself, but – with a sigh – he reached down to stroke at Loki’s hair and run his fingers through those long locks.  Loki grunted in a strange manner, but his expression softened and his eyes moved in strange motions behind his eyelids, enough that Thor smiled and slid down in the bed in turn, so that he could press a chaste kiss to his forehead. They lay in silence, while Thor continued to stroke at him and whispered in a calm voice:

“Let us discuss this with Mother tomorrow.”

“I will tell our people, Thor,” said Loki. “It is to my political advantage; I have concocted a story with Mother in which I single-handedly defeated Laufey, protecting the Allfather from a large group of armed Jotun, and – if I am considered ‘Jotun’ in turn – it could break prejudices or help me to be accepted as their prince regardless of my condition. I would be the Jotun willing to turn against his people to protect Asgard. I would be a hero.”

“Aye.” Thor let out a hiss of breath. “This also has nothing to do with Father, does it? I cannot imagine it has crossed your minds that Father may be furious with your actions, enough to potentially punish you, but that he would be more lenient to a son who is wildly applauded by the people to be a hero of their realm . . . their saviour.”

“I like that. . . ‘saviour’ . . . it has a good ring to it.”

Thor rolled his eyes, knowing too well Loki’s ulterior motives. The simple truth was that Odin would be unable to punish too severely the adopted son who was willing to stand against his blood relatives, fighting single-handedly those that sought to harm their king, and ultimately saved their realm in the eyes of their people. He pulled Loki against him regardless, letting Loki use his upper arm for a pillow, while Loki nuzzled against him and muttered complaints that the armour was uncomfortable and to remove it while he slept.

It was almost too much like old times. Thor smiled and buried his head against Loki, breathing deep the various scents as their legs entwined and the furs fell awkwardly half-over them and half-off, and Thor – with a sneaky movement of his hand – gently touched Loki’s hip so that he could trace his thumb over the smooth mound of stomach. Loki’s breath slowed while he mumbled some incoherent words, until Thor whispered:

“Go to sleep, Loki.”

 


	21. Chapter 21

Odin struggled to repress a smile.

Loki half-reclined on the large bed; he clasped his hands on the swell of his stomach, which was extended enough for the fabric of his green over-shirt to strain, and soon – likely in the upcoming weeks – new clothes would need to be tailored to his growing form. A visible sweat broke across his forehead, while the cold breeze through open balcony doors did nothing to dispel the heat about his skin. Loki glared at him with green eyes.

Thor lay oblivious beside Loki, stretched out underneath heavy furs. They were tucked under his sides, as if to prevent Loki from taking any from him, but that only emphasised the heavy and slow breaths that he took while he slept. It reminded Odin too much of their sleepovers as children . . . chastising one for having read all night, while chastising the other for refusing to wake . . . a pile of books sat beside Loki, while a plate of scraps sat beside Thor. Odin cleared his throat, as he stood in full armour at the foot of the bed. Thor stirred at last.

He rolled onto his back. Arms splayed about the bed. A hand accidentally struck Loki’s face, which drew a harsh hiss of breath through flared nostrils, and – with a pursing of pale lips – Loki struck Thor hard on his chest. Thor jolted upright and let the furs fall to his waist, revealing a bare chest and loose bottoms that looked borrowed from Loki, and it took Thor’s eyes far too long to adjust for what Odin would have approved.

“Father,” murmured Thor.

Thor ran a hand over bearded face, as he yawned until tears struck the corners of his eyes. He hunched forward and rubbed at his eyes to remove the remains of sleep, while Loki simply watched him with a quirked eyebrow in absolute silence, and soon – as Thor looked about the room – he focussed on Odin with wide eyes. Thor threw himself out of the bed and stumbled over the loose sheets and blankets, before he stood regally and bowed to Odin. He lifted his head and locked eyes with Odin, while he allowed a shaky smile to pull at his lips, and asked:

“You are awake?”

Odin nodded to him and walked over to the sofas. He sat on one far end of the sofa; Loki made to stand as if to follow, but Odin raised a hand in warning for him to stay in place, while Thor wandered across the room – barefoot and slightly hunched – to throw himself opposite Odin onto large and fluffed cushions. Thor wore his hair loose and tangled, although the plait on the left side remained intact, and Odin noticed a thin burn across his forearm that likely came during his time spent on Jotunheim. Thor yawned once more.

He rolled his shoulders and flexed his muscles, all the while trying to awaken from what appeared to be a deep sleep, and yet Thor said nothing and only kept his eyes locked on Odin, as if afraid Odin would vanish again at any moment. Loki sighed from the bed, as he muttered a sarcastic complaint at being ignored, but – with a sharp stare – Odin silenced him with nary a word. Odin looked back to Thor and said in a calm voice:

“I was told that Loki is on bed-rest.”

“It is just a precaution,” explained Thor. “Loki suffered from high blood pressure. There was also an issue with some bleeding, but that has since stopped and we are told that Loki has safely hit the two-month mark. The first bimester is always the most risky, as such we can consider ourselves through the worst of it, but it is better to be safe than sorry.”

“And what does Loki have to say on said issues?” Odin looked to Loki and nodded. “I would like to hear an assessment of your health from your own lips, as no one can know your body better than yourself, Loki. Do you consider the risk to have passed?”

“Does what I think matter?” Loki asked.

“It matters to me,” admitted Odin.

He allowed a smile to cross his lips, even as it never quite met his eyes. The memories during his sleep were rich and prominent, while Frigga’s appeal for lenience echoed over and over as if she were still beside him, and yet – as his heart raced – he saw only the son that risked the lives of all those other than his own. The anger was real, but so too was the concern. Odin drew in a deep breath and sat upright, locking eyes with Loki and not once did he glance away, and soon he found a voice both firm and calm:

“You are my son, Loki.”

“Am I?” Loki asked. “I am in no mood to talk, Father. I know that you must reject me for what I did during your sleep, but I haven’t yet the strength to abide such harsh words or criticism, so please – I beg you – let us focus only on the matter at hand. Thor has insisted I attend ‘counselling’ with the healers, and while it is a waste of time . . . it has allowed for me to develop methods of keeping my blood pressure low without medical intervention.

“I am healthy for all intents and purposes, as such I have been working from my rooms on foreign correspondence and various contracts, and – I hope – have contributed my fair share to the political stability of our realm. The child is also in perfect health. I have experienced no real symptoms aside from some back ache, and I thus cannot complain about my state.”

“And what have you decided to do about this child?”

“We have decided that Thor shall raise it as his heir.” Loki shrugged. “I will love my nephew dearly, but I am not yet ready to be a father. I also _cannot_ parent a child borne of rape and incest, especially one with Jotun blood, but that does not mean I shall not provide support to Thor should he require such support. It will be his child alone, but not mine.”

Odin broke from Loki’s gaze. He looked to Thor and noticed how he kept Loki in his peripheral vision, while gnawing and licking at his lips as if to resist speaking out of turn, and there was clear tension to his naked shoulders while his hands clenched into fists. Odin said nothing, but stole a subtle glance about the rooms. There were clothes of Thor’s scattered about the far side of the room, along with various pieces of armour and weaponry.

He noted that the room was almost split into two, which brought back memories of their childhood in a room shared for the shortest of times . . . books lined on one half of the bed, with food and technology on the other . . . clothes neatly folded on one half of the dressing room, while piles of creased clothing were strewn about the other. Odin said nothing. He waited for Thor to process his thoughts, as Thor fidgeted and moved from side to side where he sat, before he finally met Odin’s eye and broke the silence with a quiet:

“What shall we tell people of the child’s parentage?”

“Your mother states that you wish to be truthful to this child.” Odin pursed his lips and narrowed his eyes in thought. “I would advise us thus being honest with our people, at least to the extent that Loki _carries_ the child, and we can specify that the other biological parent shall remain secret until a later date. It will not create a scandal, but – should circumstances change – allow for Loki to reclaim the child if he so wishes. I believe this fair.”

“I told you that I do not _want_ this child,” spat Loki.

“Aye, _now_ ,” replied Odin. “Tell me, Loki, why do you want to bear this child? Surely, it has crossed your mind that bearing forth an heir to the throne will provide some political clout? I have seen and heard all that was done and said around me while I slept, but I also know _you_ , Loki, for you are my son . . . you are not so selfless as to bear this child for Thor alone.”

Thor half-rose with his mouth already half-open. It took only a scoff from Loki, as well as a raised eyebrow and quirked head, for Thor to drop back down with pursed lips and reddened cheeks. He clenched his hands into fists, while he flared his nostrils and glared at Odin, but – with great maturity – he held his tongue and did not voice his offence. Odin saw Frigga in his eyes; there was that same passion and undying loyalty, as well as a blindness to the flaws of those he loved, which only time would decay and replace with wisdom.

Loki paled and shrugged, as he crossed his legs at the ankles. He ran a hand over his stomach in slow and steady movements, creasing the fabric of his shirt and wrinkling it enough to emphasise the growing mound, and – as he looked down – he appeared almost oblivious to the father and brother before him. Loki sighed and lightly slapped at the skin of his stomach, before he dropped his hands to his sides and threw back his head. He admitted:

“I thought it would keep me alive.”

Odin resisted the urge to scoff. He clasped his hands together, while he looked to Thor and saw the emotions that played across Thor’s features. Thor looked away from Loki; unable to meet his gaze, as his expression paled and his eyes narrowed, and his lips downturned while his face fell. The tears sprung at the corners of his eyes, before being blinked away. Odin said nothing, but listened to the breeze that caught at the curtains and rustled the fabric that billowed out into the room with huge movements. Loki remained quiet all the while.  

“So you have ulterior motives,” said Odin.

“No, I _want_ to keep my nephew alive for the sake of Thor and Frigga.” Loki curled his lip and shook his head. “Can you deny that you have branded me a traitor? I know _you_ , Father. I cannot see how you can forgive my actions, even though I did it _all_ for you . . . I did it for you, but even now you – you look at me with such _contempt._ If you would strip Thor of his powers just for a display of arrogance, what would you do to me? No. _No_.

“I look into your eyes and I see . . . I know . . . I see your regret and disappointment, and it just makes me want to let go . . . to give up. . . I only wanted to prove my worth, because all my life your focus was on Thor . . . _Thor, Thor, Thor_! I know you related to him more, even if you loved us the same, but _do_ you love us the same? I’m a Jotun . . . a _monster_.”

“You are no monster, Loki,” said Thor.

“Thor is correct.” Odin looked down, unable to meet his gaze. “I originally intended for you to rule in Laufey’s place; I did not lie to you as children, for you were both born to be kings, and I believed very much that you would grow to become a great ruler. You would be Thor’s equal. You would both grow to unite all nine realms as one. That changed when I knew what a sacrifice that would cost, as it would mean letting you go. That is something I cannot do.”

Loki laughed a broken and high-pitched laugh. There were tears prickling the corners of his eyes, as he shook his head and gazed up at the ceiling, and – as he slid down on the bed – it was clear he sought to hide from sight. Odin watched him raise both legs, so that it was impossible to see his face from where they sat, but still the laughter could be heard and so too could the broken sobs it barely stifled. The sound brought a shiver to Odin. He barely suppressed his expression, as he tried to still his racing heart and slowly breathe.

“We thus considered for a short while to raise you as Thor’s consort,” admitted Odin. “It was soon discarded, as we could never deny you the parental love that we had so developed. I fear that I have too often failed to separate my role as king from that of your father, as such I have punished too severely without offering you reassurances, but my intention was always that of a father trying to raise a young boy into a grown man. You are my son, Loki.”

“If that is true, why do you not hate me?” Loki blinked away tears. “I have inside me the product of a union between two brothers, one in which neither man consented, and _every day_ I look in a mirror only to see it grow and leech from me what it needs to survive. Do you truly approve of my choice to keep the child? You never expected more for Thor?”

“In truth I envisioned far more for Thor, but then I also expected more for myself. I lost a child once, long before you came into this world . . . I never thought I would be able to parent another after such a loss, but the gods often laugh at our plans. You came into our life. We loved you even when our intentions began self-serving and ulterior; sometimes what we expect does not come to fruition, but what occurs can be something far greater. That is truth.”

“You truly think this child a _good_ thing?”

“I think that an heir is needed,” admitted Odin. “It is no secret that I sought to push Thor towards an appropriate spouse, especially as this sleep may well have been my last, and I will admit that I am relieved for one less concern. I also have no doubt this child shall be loved by all, perhaps – in time – even by you. I do not blame the child for the sins of its fathers.”

Thor climbed to his feet. He walked away from both Odin and Loki, where he turned his back on them and leaned his closed fists down onto a nearby table, and – with back bent – he looked out onto the balcony and to their realm beyond. Loki simply moved both hands to his stomach, as he traced strange patterns and watched the lump with an oddly indifferent expression. The cold breeze caught at Thor’s hair, catching it enough that Odin could see how much it had grown in such a short time. They both looked so different. Odin whispered:

“Your mother told me what story you weaved.”

“I had no part in that,” spat Thor.

“No, the idea was mine and Mother’s alone,” admitted Loki. “Mother thought it would secure me further freedoms, as to punish me too severely would make me a martyr. The people know that I single-handedly defeated a Jotun invasion, as well as saved the Allfather’s life from that of my biological father, and I would not be surprised if they erected a statue in my image. I am – after all – their saviour. You would destroy their image of me?”

“Their image of you is that of an Asgardian prince.” Odin glared coldly to Loki. “They do not know that you participated in a mutual rape, just as they do not know how you liaised with our enemy and allowed them to invade our realm, and they do not know how Thor’s life was nearly lost for your selfish motivations and dangerous actions.”

“I only did what I thought was best!” Loki gripped hard at his stomach. “I sought only to prove my worth by destroying our enemies and doing what _neither_ of you could ever achieve! It was my birthright to be king and I employed my right!”

“Your birthright was to die as a child!”

The words spilled from his lips. Loki’s mouth opened wide, as he jerked back and sat so upright that his position appeared uncomfortable, and his eyes – shimmering with unshed tears – focused so much on Odin that he was forced to look away. Odin licked at his lips, as if he could taste the bitterness of his exclamation. He knew what was meant . . . Loki was not owed anything from life, but forgot to be grateful when his life was so saved . . . what was said was something that sounded instead as if he was worth nothing alive.

Odin screwed closed his eyes for a brief second. He opened to see Thor now turned around, lip curled and eyes narrowed, and the silence between them was broken only by hushed voices in the hallway beyond and loud laughter that soon died away. Odin looked to Loki and waited . . . he waited for some further explanation, for some further apology . . . no words came and yet the inevitable words still were uttered in a pain mutter:

“You must be punished.”

Loki paled, as he sat upright. Those blue eyes looked between Thor and Odin, before they turned to the doors as if expecting guards to burst through in chains, and – as he let out a shuddered breath – his hands rested on his stomach in a clear attempt to gain an emotional reaction from Odin. Odin swallowed back his guilt. He blinked away tears and remained strong, while he gathered the strength to act as a king to a traitor in their realm. Thor was already by the side of the bed, half-poised as if to physically defend Loki. Odin said:

“I will be lenient for your Mother’s sake.”

“Thank you, I’m honoured.”

“Your sarcasm suits you not.” Odin looked to Loki with teary eyes. “If your image is so important to you, my son, I shall remove from you that thing you cherish most. I shall not remove your powers, but – from this day forth – you will be unable to maintain your Asgardian form for long periods. Your default form shall be your natural state.”

“No. _No_ , Father! You cannot – You can’t – I just –”

“This brings me no joy, Loki.”

Odin raised his hand. The Odinforce provided all the magic necessary. It was difficult to see through tears that threatened to fall, so much that they stung at his eyes and blurred his vision, but soon – as the illusion slowly faded from sight – the image of a young Jotun was revealed. Loki widened his red eyes. He raised a hand to look at blue skin, only for a choked sound to emit from his lips, and suddenly he struggled to breathe . . . Loki hyperventilated.  

It was difficult to abide. Loki paled even through his blue complexion, while his raised eyebrows deepened the individual patterns on his forehead, and he looked to Odin with such wide eyes – mouth parted, lips twitching – that his horror was apparent. Odin lowered his trembling hands to his sides and sat on his thumbs, so that they would not see how he shook with barely constrained shame. He continued to watch Loki, ready to intervene should his fear explode into an outright panic attack, but Thor was ready to act.

Thor knelt on the side of the bed, as he leaned over to Loki. Loki pushed him away, tears spilling from his eyes as he choked on the air itself, and – as he looked back to his hands, staring in horror with a curled lip – he lost himself in fear. Thor simply sat beside him; hands hovered inches from his shoulder and hip, although never quite made contact, while Loki drew in gulped and broken breaths and shook his head over and over. Odin winced.

“I will agree to your version of events,” said Odin. “I will allow our people to see you as our hero, and – in return – I shall not place you under arrest or allow your life to be taken. If you truly see the Jotun as monsters, perhaps this will change your perception.”

“He will only hate himself all the more,” spat Thor.

“Perhaps,” said Odin. “Perhaps not.”

Odin stood slowly to his feet, even as his joints ached and a lump formed in his throat. He watched as Thor slowly touched Loki, while Loki – now with knees drawn to his chest, burying his head into his legs – appeared oblivious to his presence. There was a time when Frigga would have held Loki as he wept. There was a time when Odin would have spoke wise advice while Loki screamed. Now there was only a man in Jotun form who struggled to process his true identity, while Odin could only walk toward the door and uttered:

“Loki, I believe in you, my boy.”

“Go,” whispered Loki. “Just _go_. Spare me, please.”

He turned his back on them. The doorknob was cold in his hand, chilled from the open doors and windows about Loki’s rooms, and – as it cooled his palm – he thought only to his son and momentarily screwed closed his eyes. He drew in slow and deep breaths, while the sting to his eyes was replaced only by spots on his vision, and he reopened his eyes to find that the tears still threatened to fall and swallowed them back with a sigh. Loki’s sobs echoed about the four walls. It was more than he could bear. Odin whispered, as he opened the door:

“I am forever proud of you, my son.”


	22. Chapter 22

Loki stood before the mirror.

The illusion of a fog protected his modesty. Thor noted that it appeared almost indistinguishable from the mist and steam of hot waters, so that the bathroom mirrors even carried the illusion of condensation, and – as the illusion of droplets continued to leave imaginary streaks down cold glass – the fog gathered most about Loki’s waist. It was too thick to see beyond, blocking his groin and buttocks from sight.

He looked handsome, as he maintained the shape of Asgardian form. There were muscles that spoke of a well-trained body, but nothing as obscene as those that bulged on Thor’s frame, while the rich blue skin only complemented well his svelte shape with well-placed patterns and darker shadows that emphasised his contours. Loki wore his hair loose and free from any products, so that the black curls collected about his shoulders, and those red eyes were fixated on the mirror with a shimmer of unshed tears. Thor whispered in a gentle voice:

“You look as if this form surprises you.”

Loki rolled his eyes and blinked away tears. He slinked over to the pool centre of the bathroom, where the crushed and broken ice still scattered the surface, and – with a huge sigh of relief – walked into the waters. The illusion of fog was removed once his body was suitably submerged. Thor watched as Loki waded in until it struck his shoulders, while his outstretched arms moved the ice in strange whirls and circles, and eventually he dunked until and came up with hair slicked to his neck and throat bared to cool air.

Thor blushed, as he rolled up his pyjama bottoms. He came to the side of the pool and sat down, so that his legs could dangle in the waters, and – as Loki splashed his bare chest with cold water – he knew he would not be able to endure the temperature for long periods. It took only a few minutes for him to sit cross-legged, while Loki swam back and forth and hummed to himself strange tunes. The swell to his belly impeded fast movement.

It was occasionally visible when the ice broke. Thor would look away to avoid seeing the rest of Loki, but it was difficult not to stare at the stretched skin as the two-month mark showed, along with a hint of stretch-marks that he dared not mention aloud. He smiled each time the bump would break the surface of the ice. Loki swam to the side of the pool and rested his forearms on the edge, where he laid his head down and looked up to Thor only a few inches from his barely clad form. Loki finally answered in a cold voice:

“It has only been three days.”

“Aye, but your Asgardian form was the result of a spell.” Thor looked Loki over. “It was biological, yes, but that spell was broken and your biology changed. You reverted to Jotun form the moment you touched the Casket. Do you mean to tell me that you never once broke your illusion of an Asgardian form in all that time? You never once looked at yourself?”

“Why would I _want_ to look at this? I maintained the illusion even in my private time. I do not think I shall ever forgive Father for forcing me to look like a monster, but – at the least – I can maintain the illusion of an Asgardian form for short periods. That is a consolation.”

“A consolation that you never employ,” muttered Thor.

“Say what you mean or say nothing at all.”

Thor snatched at the ice and threw some at Loki. He smiled as Loki pouted, but the smile was quickly replaced by a howl of horror. Loki took a handful of ice and smeared it against Thor’s bare chest; it stung and burned, far too cold to endure, but – no sooner had he instinctively moved back – Loki pulled at the hem of his bottoms. A handful of ice was dunked inside, before Loki swam away. Thor cried out. He ran to the sinks and poured warm water over himself until his clothes clung to him. Loki cried with laughter.

“You are too much a child,” chided Thor

“Yes, but _I_ don’t look like I had a night-time accident.”

The laughter echoed about the rooms; Thor ignored Loki while he stripped the pyjama bottoms from his body and draped them across a nearby dressing table, while he snatched at a towel and wrapped it around his waist for the sake of modesty. The windows and balcony doors remained open, casting goosebumps over his skin and bringing a shudder to his limbs, and yet Thor threw himself again beside Loki and glared down at him. Loki smirked back, with blue lips quirked at the corner to bring lines to his eyes. Thor spat back at him:

“You do not leave your rooms!”

Loki slowly pushed away from the pool edge. He moved centre of the waters, while his laughter died and a frown overcame his features, and those red eyes narrowed enough to hide the subtle green flecks so otherwise easily missed. Thor narrowed his eyes and clenched his hands by his sides, while he breathed deep and heavy through his frustration. Loki continued to sweep his hands over the ice and asked in a low voice:

“Why should I leave?”

“Volstagg and Fandral worry about you,” said Thor. “Mother says you will not allow her entry, so she waits all day in the library in the hopes you will come. I will not pretend to understand how you feel, Loki, except that I know that it must be difficult for you, but to hide away in shame is no solution. I promise you that no one shall judge you.”

“Aye, you can promise this, can you? I _know_ them, Thor! They could have accepted a Jotun prince that looked Asgardian, but to accept a prince that looks every bit a monster -? No. They cannot look past my appearance. It is all they will see . . . all _I_ will see.”

“What about me? What do you think _I_ see?”

“I know not, but I know you so not look at me the same.” Tears distorted Loki’s red eyes and his lips trembled. “You _stare_. I know you stared due to this child, but now it is as if you stare to memorise the redness to my eyes and the patterns to my skin, as if you are looking into the face of a stranger. Can you reconcile this creature with the brother you once knew?”

Thor winced and looked away. He thought to the healers’ words . . . _‘short periods of exercise or movement are beneficial, while socialisation will ease his emotional state’_. . . the isolation of Loki forced a long exhale of breath. Thor slowly eased himself into the cold waters, while he removed his towel and draped it onto the side. The waters stung. The ice took his breath away, as his body tensed and pins-and-needles struck his skin, but slowly he waded over to Loki and wrapped his arms around Loki from behind.

The skin about his stomach was firm, nothing like that of muscle or fat, but something taut and tight that made him fear it would soon rip or snap. Thor ran his hands over the bump, stopping only short of places that would provoke too many memories, and placed a light kiss to the column of Loki’s neck. He lingered with his lips, as he breathed deep the scent of various perfumes and colognes, before he finally nuzzled into him. Loki hummed.

“You will freeze, Thor,” said Loki.

“Then I will freeze,” replied Thor. “I will stay in these waters and hold you, until you realise that we are brothers and you are loved. Do you think I could ever see you as any less? I will not lie to you, Loki . . . things have been confused in my mind since I learned you carried my child, but your being Jotun has not lessened my feelings in the least.”

“It has not lessened your feelings, no, but has it deepened them?”

“I do not follow,” lied Thor. “You are my brother.”

Loki turned around in his hold. He draped long arms around Thor’s shoulders, while he leaned close enough that noses touched, and soon they were breathing in each other’s air, even as they strove to leave some distance between their lower parts. A deep sense of shame overcame Thor; he closed his eyes and thought to a previous partner, one whom he once thought would have been his queen, and how they bathed together and teased one another. It caused his stomach to churn and his body to shiver, especially when Loki added:

“Do you kiss all your friends upon their necks?”

It was too cold to blush. Thor already struggled to breathe, as he trembled and swallowed back the lump that formed in his throat, but he ignored Loki’s question and instead thought to the friends he loved . . . _Fandral, Sif, Hogun_. . . he could envision well the fury from Sif should he attempt to kiss her, just as he could envision the confusion from Fandral and disgust from Hogun. Thor said nothing. There was nothing to say. Loki drew in a deep breath and slowly placed a chaste kiss to Thor’s forehead, as he whispered:

“You need to move out of my rooms.”

“You are bed-ridden,” said Thor.

“I am not refusing your company.” Loki hissed and shook his head. “I simply need you to grow _less_ confused; space will allow you to think, without confusing things further, and it will also allow you to distance yourself from me. If I think this behaviour inappropriate, what shall Father think once he notices your attentions and actions? You would damn us both!”

“You make my actions sound insidious and malicious! I only seek to bond with my brother; it never bothered you before that I would touch you freely, while I have never been closer with any other, and yet now you make _sickening_ insinuations about it?”

“I was not carrying _your_ child before,” spat Loki.

“What difference does that make?”

“Do not be so dense!” Loki pushed himself away. “I now look Jotun and people will talk. It will be easy for rumours to start, that my identity was hidden as I was raised to be your consort, and – especially if this child has black hair or features like mine – people may talk that this child is ours and push for us to form an official union. Father is perceptive; he will not stand for an incestuous union, while _you_ cannot break such laws.”

“It sickens me you would think so little of me. You would mistake my love for you as something _sexual_. . . _romantic_? I have never once acted inappropriately with you! I know how I feel, Loki, but do you know how you feel? Do you seek to project upon me? Why do you assume such motivations of someone who would never dirty you like that?”

“You seem to forget about the rape.”

Thor pulled back. He curled his lips and widened his eyes, while he looked Loki over through the waters and saw the ambivalence writ across his features, enough that Thor almost understood why Loki had been so cruel . . . _he always attacked when cornered_. Frigga had revealed how she projected her image in his rooms, begging for him to forgive, only to be told coldly that she was not his mother. Thor remembered her tears. They were the same tears that threatened to collect in his eyes, as his heart raced and he asked in a whisper:

“Why do you always seek to hurt as a last resort?”

He could abide the cold no longer. Loki would not meet his eyes, but his lips trembled and his blue arms were folded across his chest, and Thor – shaking his head with a shuddered sigh – waded back to the edge of the pool and climbed out. Ice dripped and slid from his now extremely paled skin, while he snatched at the towel and covered his privates. Loki waded silently back and forth behind him. Thor struggled to hold back his emotions, as his body shivered and his heart raced, and he soon walked away from the pool with a quick pace.

There were a selection of towels piled to the corner of the room, some warmed with hot stones for Thor’s benefit, and he contented himself with wrapping them about his limbs and sitting on a chair in the far corner of the room. He looked to Loki as he trembled, only to see him swim to the edge and quirk a black eyebrow in Thor’s direction. There was a hint of guilt, but Thor ignored those minute expressions to ask in a cold voice:

“Will it not cause more suspicions should I move out?”

Loki climbed out of the pool. Thor looked away with a blush to see his long member nestled among a thatch of untamed curls, before he realised – for the first time in his life – he grew uncomfortable to see Loki naked. He watched from the corner of his eye, while Loki towelled himself down with absolute grace and patience, but all the while he thought back to memories of their childhood sleepovers and shared baths and being tended by the healers. This was different. He could not put into words why, but a terrified part of him suspected.  

“Father will notice that I have moved,” said Thor.

“We never did make good roommates as children,” replied Loki. “We were good short-term companions, while our sleepovers were legendary, but we fought far too much for ‘sharing’ to ever be considered a viable option as adults. It will be more suspicious should you stay here for a longer period, but not for you to leave now as opposed to later.”

“Very well, but I will only move out on one condition.” Thor flared his nostrils and placed hands upon his lips. “You are to leave these rooms. Father has asked for your support in some political matters, so there is much for you to do, and Sif has arranged some physical training for you that will not harm the unborn child. If this is too much for you, you can at least continue to attend your sessions with the healers. You must attend those in person.”

“You would _blackmail_ me into submission? Oh, how lovely.”

“Would you listen to me, otherwise?”

“You mean to ask would I _obey_ , otherwise?” Loki rolled his eyes. “Thor, I acknowledge the part that I played in our rape, but that does not mean I am ‘over it’. I still endure nightmares from that night, while I find the flirtations of other men unbearable, and each time I look at you -? I am forced to process what happened. It is difficult to reconcile my love for you with my hatred for what you did, but to add your ‘confusion’ into the matter -?”

Loki ran a hand over his face. He appeared oblivious to his nude state, but soon yanked a green robe from a shelf not far from sight. It was the same style and shade as his previous robe, only in perfect condition and with patterns sewn into the hem and pockets, and it also appeared larger as if to accommodate a growing form. Loki draped it around his body, as he wandered over to Thor and stood before him with arms crossed over his chest, and – as he looked down with watery eyes and half-parted lips – Thor saw how his muscled tensed.

“Do you know what I see what I look in a mirror?” Loki asked. “I see the monster that Father described to us as children. I know that wars lead to bad memories, just as I know he has good reason to loathe the man that stole away his sister, but his biases are not his alone and are those shared by our people. I look to my skin and see something that I should hate, but it paints that of a man whom I _know_ to be more than what is expected.

“Can I be a monster if I know myself to be intelligent and strong? Can it be that they were not monsters in the least? Am _I_ the monster for having judged them as I did? I do not know, but nor did those questions matter. Now I have this child inside me, and so these questions echo in my head with my urgency than before . . . over and over and over they echo . . .

“Will this child be judged for its heritage? Even if it can pass as Asgardian, will it endure the stigma and the prejudice? Will it know the sting of a passing insult on something beyond your control? Will it know the agony of being defined by something indefinable? Will it hate me for passing this onto them? Worst, it is not just a case of race, but the incest from which they were borne and from which they will grow. What if I grow to hate _them_?”

Loki raised a trembling hand to his lips, as he turned his back to Thor. A few seconds passed, just enough to allow Loki to collect his emotions, but Thor soon raised and wrapped his arms once again around that expanding stomach and taut skin. Thor buried his head into the crook of Loki’s neck, fully expecting to be struck or stabbed or screamed at, but instead Loki rested his hands over Thor’s and leaned his head back onto Thor’s shoulder. They remained stood together while Thor slowly warmed and Loki slowly calmed. Thor asked:

“Why would you hate them?”

The silence that followed was uncomfortable. Thor listened to his heart, while the gurgling sound of draining waters echoed about the rooms, and – from without – there were chirping birds and laughing people, as the world carried on around them and oblivious to the affections that crossed more and more lines. Loki’s wet hair tickled at his nose, just as his cold skin chilled Thor in turn, but soon Loki broke the silence with a quiet question that surprised Thor with how out-of-place it seemed. Loki’s voice was quiet and soft:

“Do you forgive me for my part in the rape?”

“Of course,” admitted Thor. “I thought I would never forgive you, but I look back and hate myself for having ever thought that . . . just as I also hate myself _for_ having forgiven you . . . I still struggle to sleep in my bed, even though it has since been replaced.”

“Precisely,” said Loki. “I may grow to fully forgive you, but I know I shall never forget what happened and it shall linger on my psyche, but – even as I endure with the after-effects – this child shall serve to remind me of what occurred. What if it reminds me of what you did? What if I grow jealous of the attention you provide it? What if – What if I lose my brother?”

 “It is so rare you express your fears to me . . .”

“Mother says I have a fear of abandonment,” muttered Loki. “I fear that she may be right, especially as this infernal creature devastates my hormones. Thor, whatever happens between us, I need to know that I will always have a home here on Asgard. I have never been appreciated, while my talents have always gone overlooked, but you -?”

Thor snarled and let go of Loki. He walked away from him to collect his clothing from about the floor, as he redressed with only shuffled sounds of rustling fabric, and – as he chanced a glance back to Loki – his heart fell and mingled with the rage. Loki looked taken aback; he raised his head just slightly to cast shadows under his chin, while his red eyes widened and his lips parted, and he even blinked rapidly as he took in a deep breath. He hid well the shock at being rejected, as well as the hope of being accepted, but Thor knew his tells too well.

It broke the rage at once, even as the annoyance lingered. Thor wanted to chide Loki on his version of events, as if he were ever treated worse than any other, but he knew that truth was subjective and to Loki he spoke what he thought correct. Thor finished dressing in his casual attire, but threw the wet towels to Loki and pointed to where the wet pyjama bottoms lay, and – as Loki put them to dry with a pout – Thor marched beside him.

He embraced Loki.

The hold was firm and likely left bruises. Thor strove to lessen his grip, but the irritation lingered too much. He smiled to feel Loki’s hands wrapped around his waist, while Thor placed a hand on his upper back and lower back in turn, and – as he pulled him close – he simply listened to those ragged breaths and staggered sighs. He pressed another kiss to Loki’s neck . . . then another . . . and another . . . until Loki was forced to pull back with a scowl, pressing his fingers to Thor’s lips to prevent him doing what could not be undone.

“I will not abandon you,” swore Thor. “I will likely love this child more, but that is the way it _should_ be, Loki, and I would worry for any man whose child is not the priority in his life, for it speaks of misplaced priorities. I also will not deny that my trust for you is low after what you did, but I know I made errors of my own and we both grew as people.”

“So then we will not speak of our earlier conversation again?” Loki rolled his eyes. “I did not mean to insult you, but we must place boundaries to avoid rumours, and things will only grow far more complicated from this point forward. We must be sensible.”

“Aye, sensible,” muttered Thor. “I can agree to that.”

The fingers dropped from Thor’s lips, but he could still feel the tingle from where they pressed and something that forced him to step back with a blush, and – as a rise of nausea crashed through him – he saw in Loki’s eyes the sadness and fear in equal measure. Lines were crossed. Emotions were confused. Thor swore and ran a hand over his bearded face, before he rubbed at the back of his neck and looked over to the bedroom door, which revealed the room beyond split in two with their various possessions. He conceded:

“I will move out, I promise.”

Thor hunched his back and walked away. He managed only a few steps when a cold hand wrapped around his wrist, only to yank him back and force him to stay still, and – as he looked behind him – he saw Loki with furrowed brows and pursed lips. It was difficult to read his expression. Loki let go of his wrist, only to place both hands on his hips and look Thor up and down as if assessing the situation. Loki eventually spat out:

“One last sleepover cannot hurt, no?”

Thor laughed in absolute relief, as he slapped a hand hard on Loki’s back. Loki lurched forward and glared hard at him, before he marched over to the bedroom doors and rolled his eyes with muttered complaints, but his childishness was not enough to tamper Thor’s happiness at still being wanted.  He followed not far behind; Loki already started work on a ‘wall’ centre of the bed, one made entirely of pillows that would prevent bodies from touching, but Thor could not stop the smiles from reaching his eyes, as he said:

“Thank you, Brother.”

 


	23. Chapter 23

“Loki is pregnant.”

Thor winced as Fandral laughed. The sound echoed about the gardens, enough that it drowned out the sounds of various birds and insects and training from afar, and – as Thor sat down onto the stone bench – he kept his eyes low to avoid his gaze. It was warm out, enough that the sun reflected strong from the ponds and blinded him to look in their direction, and beams of light would shine in his eyes each time the sunshine caught on pieces of armour.

Fandral and Sif sat together on a bench just opposite; Volstagg sat on a clean blanket thrown between them, which hosted an array of picnic food and cutlery, and – despite everyone’s determination to bond and socialise – the food lay untouched and unwanted. A few slices of cake attracted the attention of wasps, only to be wafted away from Volstagg, who picked at odd corners and plated portions ready for those that may change their minds, but Hogun simply grunted at the sight. He stood leant against a far tree with folded arms.

It was almost social. Thor glanced back to see how Fandral wiped away a tear, as he continued to laugh at an assumed joke, while Sif nudged him hard in his ribs and quirked an eyebrow in Thor’s direction. They were dressed in informal armour, likely dragged from the training fields by Volstagg and Hogun for Thor’s spontaneous invitation, but Thor noticed with a smile that their hair was ruffled and skin flushed. Thor laughed in turn.

“You _are_ joking,” said Fandral.

The smile fell fast, as Thor ran a hand over bearded face. He caught the scent of the various meats and freshly baked breads, while a couple of servants laughed not far from them, before a guard loudly commanded them to leave, and – in his peripheral vision – Thor saw two shadows interlocked and running to some far side-entrance. It brought a shaky smile to his lips, as he thought to romances shared and romances lost. Loki momentarily entered his mind, but he winced and closed his eyes to force back impossible thoughts.

“I am most serious,” replied Thor. “Loki is pregnant.”

Fandral laughed again, but this time his laughter trailed away into awkward silence. He looked from face to face, as his lips fell into a frown, and – as he blinked rapidly and knitted his eyebrows together – he whispered a half-felt ‘oh’. Sif placed a hand on his knee, where she squeezed and looked to him with a stern expression. Hogun said nothing. Volstagg let out a long sigh and stared up toward the bright sky, where now a cloud lay in sight.

“I always imagined him too much a prude for a physical relationship,” muttered Fandral. “That being said, it’s hard to ignore the little tales the mortals tell. Did you know that they ascribed an ‘origin story’ to the Allfather’s horse? It involves a blacksmith, a –”

“I would advise silence on such stories,” chastised Hogun.

“Well, it’s not as though I would believe them! I am simply saying that – for all his wanton reputation – he’s actually . . . well . . . rather old-fashioned. I cannot recall him ever flirting with anyone of either gender, and it’s _hardly_ as though he’s ever had a relationship that he’s at least been open about. Plus, he cares too much about his reputation!”

“I didn’t think you bought into the ‘ _ergi’_ stigma,” muttered Sif.

“Well, I don’t, but you know . . . he’s already . . .”

Fandral made a strange gesture with his hands. It brought a scoff from Hogun, while Volstagg chuckled on sight, and it was clear he sought to emulate the act of casting a spell, although he looked instead like he received an electric shock. Thor drew in a deep breath and gnawed at his lip, as he thought back to the stigma of those that practise Seiðr, and he also remembered well a broken nose once delivered to an ambassador who bragged of laying claim to the ‘court magician’. He could still feel the blood on his hands. Thor muttered:

“You mean he practises magic.”

There was only a shrug in response. Thor knew well that they appreciated Loki’s magic, but he also knew too well that such magic was typically only practised by women, as such he knew that their silence spoke volumes about the society around them: they would not judge Loki, but others most certainly would. He was a wielder of magic who now proved rumours to be true by carrying the child of another man. Thor said nothing, even as he listened to the long sigh of Volstagg who poked and prodded at his food with a half-pout.

“What’s done is done,” chirped Volstagg. “Let us not focus too much on _how_ , but instead _who_ the lucky devil is to impregnate the most notorious prince of all nine realms! Ah, which isn’t to mention . . . ah, Loki is male, correct? Would it be too much to ask if this is a result of his Jotun heritage? I noticed he still won’t leave his rooms.”

“He has left his rooms,” said Hogun.

“He spends lunchtimes with our queen,” continued Sif. “I have also been spending the mornings engaging in training exercises with him, but only those safe for his fragile form and approved by the healers. I am afraid I was sworn to secrecy on his condition.”

“You _knew_?” Fandral widened his eyes. “Oh, you could have told _me_!”

“Oh? You can keep secrets now, can you?”

“Well, when the need arises.”

Thor smiled despite the situation. He watched as Hogun silently observed the group, while Volstagg fussed around with plates of food and sought to create the grandest of meals, and soon Sif and Fandral were bickering almost like children, as they jabbed and teased at one another with a quick succession of jibes and insults. Thor thought back to Volstagg’s question, as he drew in a deep breath and swallowed back the lump in his throat.

“It is his Jotun heritage,” answered Thor.

He cast his eyes to the balcony of his room; Loki was not in sight, but he smiled further to envision how he would linger about the cold baths, perhaps sinking down into the cold waters only to emerge with wet hair slick to his neck. Thor half-remembered asking Loki to grow out his hair, stroking his head while he slept, and the last night spent together before being expelled from his rooms to ease any rumours. He sighed and scratched at his neck.

A cool breeze blew across the gardens, which caught at the scent of various foods. Thor breathed deep and offered out his hand for a plate, only to laugh as Volstagg handed him one already made with all his favourite foods ready to consume, and – as he rested the plate beside him – he noted a collection of grapes that made him glance back to the balcony with a stab in his heart. He yearned for Loki’s company, while still conflicted, and he picked at the plate with odd sighs and groans, before Fandral interrupted with the question:

“Ah, I thought his mother was Asgardian?”

“His mother _is_ Asgardian,” spat Thor. “I care not what you may think, but I demand that you respect his position as my brother and as prince of Asgard. Mother may not have borne him, but she was the one to teach him and chastise him and nurture him, and I will not have anyone else referred to as his ‘mother’. Fárbauti was his aunt, nothing more.”

“I am sorry, my friend,” said Fandral. “I did not mean it as an insult, but still . . . does Loki feel the same way? He was lied to about his heritage, while now forced to live openly as a Jotun, and his biological parents never sought to abandon him, while always laying an actual claim to him, and – well – that must surely confuse him. What of the father to this child? Do they realise the racism that the child must bear? The stigma of marrying a Jotun?”

“Loki will not marry the father of his child.”

“Why not?” Fandral furrowed his brow. “He would rather raise a bastard?”

“Oh, _must_ you use that word?” Volstagg asked. “I’ll have you know that – if I had married my wife only three months later – our first child would have been a ‘bastard’. I don’t see why Loki _has_ to marry the father in any case, especially as no one dare question a prince.”

“I never said he _had_ to, but just questioned why he _won’t_.”

Volstagg rolled his eyes and swallowed back a bite. Fandral furrowed his brow in apparent confusion, while his lips were pursed and parted, and – as he looked between his friends – clearly Fandral was caught between questioning further and letting the matter drop. Sif refused to meet any of their gazes. Hogun closed his eyes. Volstagg caught their expressions and his face dropped, enough that it finally made Fandral look back to Thor.

It was strange to have both sets of eyes on him; Fandral was wide-eyed and open-mouthed, while Volstagg half-smiled and shook his head, and – while Volstagg may have known about the pregnancy – it seemed the realisation of the circumstances finally dawned. Thor took one of the grapes and bounced it in his hand, before he threw it out across the gardens and watched it skim the pond with several growing ripples each time. Volstagg let out a long exhale of breath, as he ripped a chicken leg from the basket and said:

“You are the father.”

Thor winced and took another grape. He looked back to the balcony, before he scrunched closed his eyes and squeezed the grape in his hand, and – as the juices ran down his fingers – opened his eyes to see the mess left and the flattened skin. Thor blinked away tears and let out a shuddered breath, before he dropped the remains of the grape onto the soft grass underfoot. It would only be a matter of time before Odin would need to announce the arrival of an official heir, and he owed it to his friends to tell them before it was heard elsewhere.

“I am the father,” confessed Thor.

“Oh,” muttered Fandral. “As if being a Jotun borne of an _ergi_ out of wedlock was bad enough, but now we must further complicate matters by having this child borne of incest, too? I am safe to assume that this is the result of your mutual rape, correct? You – ah – aren’t _actually_ engaged in some form of ongoing relationship, are you?”

“Of course not,” spat Thor. “Loki is my brother.”

“Loki does not cope as things stand,” interrupted Sif. “I believe he sees my interactions with him as pity, while he does all that he can to hide his form and growing stomach, and these sorts of comments will only add to his fear of coming forward to the people.”

“We currently plan to present Loki as my surrogate.” Thor ran his hands through his hair. “Loki has many Asgardian features, while our child will only be a quarter-Jotun, and thus it is our hope that the child will present fully Asgardian. We will say that the egg was taken from an anonymous party, while the child will be raised by me and me alone.”

“Loki would give up his child?” Fandral asked.

“It was his idea, my friend. Not mine.”

The sadness on Fandral’s face could not be hidden. He followed Thor’s gaze to the balcony, where he sighed and let a frown overtake his features, and – no longer feeling so alone – Thor wondered if Fandral shared the same concerns. It was possible Loki would want to lay claim to his child. It was possible someone would realise the truth. It was possible Helblindi would want to make the child his heir in turn. There were too many uncertainties.

Thor picked at his food, while he listened to the world around them. Sif slowly extricated herself from Fandral, before she crossed the garden to sit beside him, and – with a hesitant gesture – placed her hand on his should and gripped. Fandral in turn slapped at his legs with a loud sigh; he followed close behind, while he whipped Thor’s plate from the bench and flung himself on his other side, and handed the plate to Thor with a pat on his back. It brought a smile to Thor’s lips to have friends surrounding him, even as he looked down in shame.

The sound of running water echoed down below, as various doors on the balconies above were flung open, and – from the occasional window – Thor caught sight of servants with various fresh clothing and sheets in hand, while they gossiped and laughed together. A part of him still yearned to see Loki, but he failed to appear before any window. Thor looked away with a heavy heart, as he ran a hand over his shoulder. Fandral asked:

“What can we do to help?”

Thor smiled and threw his arms around their shoulders. He pulled them tight with a laugh, before he let them sit back and looked to the sky above, and – with a loud sigh – let his mind work through all the solutions that may help Loki. Hogun reluctantly took a seat opposite Volstagg on the picnic blanket, where he picked at some stray pieces of rice on a side dish, and Thor drew in a broken breath only to utter in a quiet voice:

“Do not treat Loki any differently, I beg you.”

“You mean tease him mercilessly and involve him in all the recent gossip?” Fandral winked and shrugged. “I can most certainly do that! I will not hide the fact I do despise his recent actions, but I do miss having someone that I can whisper all the latest scandals. Loki always seemed to have eyes on every wall. He heard some stories that would make a maiden blush!”

“We cannot just _distract_ Loki and pretend as if nothing has happened,” said Volstagg. “He is carrying a child borne from rape and incest, as well as one that will have Jotun blood, and I think we owe it to make sure he is . . . well . . . _coping_. I would not cope so well.”

“He does not appear to have insidious plans,” muttered Sif.

“Yet,” spat Hogun.

“Oh, hush, you two!” Volstagg rolled his eyes. “Loki has learnt his lesson, I’m sure. Even if you cannot look past his actions, would you really condemn the child over the actions of its father? No. I can tell you this much, even when my wife and I fought like nothing you can imagine . . . I still knew that keeping her happy kept our baby healthy.”

The chastisement silenced Sif and Fandral, but left Thor with a sinking sense in his stomach. He looked to the hand of Volstagg and saw the wedding band, and he looked to Hogun and saw how he stared absently to the heavens, missing the wife who resided on Vanaheim, both reminding him that he would never have the love of a traditional family. Thor cast his eyes to the balcony, where Loki resided, and knew that they would not declare vows or bear forth more children or share a bed as a couple. He forced such thoughts from his mind and asked:

“We have your support?”

“A child is always a joyous occasion,” chirped Volstagg.

“I supposed it good practise,” said Sif with a look to Fandral. “I will not be relegated to the role of babysitter based entirely upon my gender, but I will be happy to offer whatever help I may in order to make things easier for you, my friend.”

“Just don’t expect me to change diapers,” teased Fandral.

“You have the support of all,” added Hogun.

The words lifted a weight from his shoulders. Thor smiled and clasped the plate of food between his hands, as he knew that gossip and complaints would be made in his absence, and yet – at the same time – he knew them to be sincere in their desire to offer unconditional support. The breeze warmed his skin, while the sun continued bright from above, and he only prayed that Loki would feel confident to join them in days to come. Thor whispered:

“Thank you, my friends.”

 


	24. Chapter 24

Loki screamed.

It echoed through the antechamber. The sound was high-pitched and prolonged, ceasing only as his voice broke and endless sobs replaced the screams, and it competed only with the racing of Thor’s heart, as he looked with wide eyes to the delivery room doors. The antechamber was warm and comfortable, with a marble table laden with luxury foods and beverages, but all remained untouched as Thor paced back and forth.

He covered both ears with his hands, while he pressed with enough forced to blur his vision and bruise his skin, but the screams would only start again, only this time with whimpered pleading and loud curses that made even Odin blanch with shock. Thor dropped his hands by his sides and looked to Odin, but his eyes ever went to the door and his teeth gnawed at his lips with want of something else to occupy his mind. Odin sighed and stood, legs shaking underneath the pressure of having sat for so long in his old age and ill health.

Odin marched across the antechamber. He grabbed both Thor’s upper arms, wrapping callused fingers around barely clad muscle, and he leaned into Thor’s personal space with grey-blue eyes cloudy and half-narrowed. It was enough for Thor to stay still. He breathed deep through his panic and looked to Odin with watery eyes, only for another scream to pierce the air with an ear-shattering intensity. Thor winced and tried to pull away.

“You must relax, Thor,” said Odin. “It could be a long while yet.”

“How can I relax when he suffers so greatly?” Thor glanced to the marble table with a curled lip. “Is this how you would have me pass time? Am I supposed to toast with rare wines and hand out expensive treats to any that may enter? Loki is in pain! He suffers bearing forth a child that I -!” Thor blinked away tears. “That I put into him.”

Odin gently guided Thor to the benches beside the marble table. They were clad in huge pillows and blankets, both strewn so high that it was almost uncomfortable for its ‘comfort’, and – with heavy movements – Thor dropped onto the bench and buried his head into his hands, while he listened to Loki scream ever onward. There was a heavy scent of perfumes in the air, enough that he sought about the room with blurred eyes for sight of the censer, but he was soon distracted as Odin sat beside him. The blankets dipped and Odin said with a sigh:

“Shall I tell you of your birth?”

Thor said nothing. He struggled to maintain regular breaths, while his hands opened and closed of their own accord, and soon – as his heart raced ever louder – he was overcome with a sensation of pins-and-needles over his flesh. The world blurred around him, through tears and strained focus, and it took all his strength to look to Odin and observe that his father wore a mask much like Loki. He was hiding his fear. Thor smiled and asked:

“Were you as calm as you are now?”

“No,” admitted Odin.

“I just wish that they would give me a task,” said Thor. “I must do _something_ , but instead I can only wait outside while Mother tends to his needs! Why can I not ease his suffering? Why can I not mop his brow or rub his back or some other small task? Why?”

“I once asked the same questions.” Odin smiled through tears. “It is tradition for the father to wait outside, as it is considered a time too intimate and personal to lay witness, but I – in all my arrogance and with all my power – demanded entry to be with my queen. I fear she did not appreciate it as much as I believed. Frigga cursed me with every word and insult that you can imagine, and – to this day – I wonder how such acts with a Bilgesnipe possible.”

Thor laughed despite the situation. It was a loud and spontaneous sound, stopped only by another scream that filled him with untold guilt, and he looked back to Odin with a half-broken smile that did not quite reach his eyes. Odin slapped a hand on his back, before he clasped at his shoulder and let his hand fall away between them. The screams grew closer and closer together, each one somehow softer and more staggered than the last, as if Loki’s throat grew bloody or broken, and Thor tensed every muscle in his body, even as Odin continued.  

“I can promise you that Loki appreciates the sentiment,” said Odin. “He knows that you care dearly for him and for this child, but you must know that there is nothing that you can do for him in there aside to make him self-conscious. He will not wish for you to see him with legs spread and covered in blood. Your mother made waste, which humiliated her, and – if I could – I would have spared her that by not being present. I was too selfish.”

“I heard a different tale from Mother.” Thor wiped at his eyes with a sniff. “I heard that – for all her embarrassment – you made her feel safe, as if no harm would ever befall upon us, and even though you were afraid . . . to see you so strong gave her strength. I would be that pillar of strength for Loki. Do I not owe it to him to be present? I must do something.”

“Loki is a remarkable young man, but he is vain and he is stubborn. I know that Loki would not have asked for Frigga unless he were desperate, for even his mother would make him too self-conscious, but she has seen him in far worse states. He will wish to be alone.”

“He always says that, but how often does he mean that?”

Loki screamed one more time. It was louder than the rest, enough that Thor was on his feet and lunged for the door, but – with impressive reflexes – Odin grabbed at his wrist and held him firmly in place, even as the screams descended into an eerie silence. Thor thought nothing could be worse than the screams. He was wrong. Thor dropped open his jaw, as he staggered back and collapsed onto the bench with heavy breaths. Panic. Fear. Pain.

A cry . . . a baby’s cry . . .

Thor wept to hear a newborn babe. He threw forward his body and cried into his hands, while that sound soon softened into quieter and more comfortable cries, and – for a while – he heard only pained murmurs from Loki and no longer agonised screams. The tears blinded him. The relief nearly brought him to fatigue. Odin patted his back several times with muttered congratulations, before he stood and picked at the food on the table, even as Thor threw himself back and stared at the ceiling with an uncontrollable smile.

He barely heard as the doors opened. A healer appeared in his blurred and unfocussed vision, enough that he was forced to press his fingers into his eyes and scrunch them shut, but – as he blinked rapidly and looked back to her – he saw her warm smile. _All was well_. Thor climbed to his feet and stumbled over to her, where he waited impatiently for her to speak, all the while jumping from foot to foot and unsure what to do with his hands. The healer asked:

“Would you like to see you son, my lord?”

Thor stood in a daze, unable to answer her question. The healer giggled and turned back into the delivery room, while she left the doors open for him to follow, and – as he watched her descend into the chaos – Odin came behind him and whispered ‘go’. Thor was shoved inside while the doors closed behind him; he caught sight of Odin just in time to see him smile, enough to betray that his father was as proud as he to have a new addition to their family.

The healer placed a hand on the small of his back. He let her guide him past a curtained off section of the room, where – centre of the main area – sat a large table where a small bundle was swaddled under the attention of a healer. Thor slowly wandered closer, half in a daze as he looked with wide-eyes to the blond-haired babe with the bluest eyes that he could ever envision, and he let out a choked breath to finally touch the table edge. A pair of hands took the child and pressed it against him, words half-whispered and he took the child.

He heard them mention the child was a son. The pale cheeks much like his, along with almost all other features, but the child was lean like Loki and bore his mouth, including his smile that looked more like a smirk. Thor marvelled at how warm they felt pressed against his chest, while every gurgle and giggle and groan acted as the most fascinating sound in the entirety of his life. He could not look away. This was his son . . . his boy . . . his _life_. . .

“Magni,” whispered Thor.

“You would name him ‘Great’,” whispered Loki.

Thor jumped in surprise and looked to the curtains. They were soon swept aside by a healer, only to reveal a low bed occupied by Loki. Frigga stood over him; there was a clean rag in her hand that dripped clear waters, while the ice crunched inside and brought small murmurs of contentment from Loki each time it was pressed to his forehead. Light sheets covered his blue legs to his waist, while a green night-shirt clung to his skin with sweat.

Loki looked exhausted. He remained with closed eyes and head limp to the side, while his legs were still parted beneath the sheets and his stomach was still swollen, and Thor took slow and careful steps beside the bed. The scent of blood and sweat mingled in the air, but Thor noticed none of that when Loki seemed to glow and looked so at peace, and his heavy breaths marked a fatigue that began a well-earned rest. Thor glanced back to the babe in his arms, who was thankfully cleaned and clothed, and said with a gentle laugh:

“He is the greatest gift you could ever give me.”

Loki half-opened his eyes. He gazed to Thor with mouth parted with unspoken words, while Frigga hummed some half-recognised tune to calm him, and yet he strove to speak through his fatigued state . . . broken gasps, loud hisses . . . a half-murmured ‘Thor’ . . . _another scream that awoke Magni_. Thor stumbled back with wide-eyes. Terror overcame him. Loki clutched at his stomach and screamed again, face screwed up with eyes closed, and he arched his back and pulled his legs high. Thor bellowed out loud as he could muster:

“Healer! Please! Something is wrong with my brother!”

The healers converged on Loki, while Frigga dropped the rag to grab at his hands, and – as he clenched hard enough to bruise her delicate skin – she showed no sign of pain, but simply talked him through his agonised state. Eir served as the head medic; her figure quickly appeared at the foot of the bed, where she flipped the sheet over Loki’s knees so that it acted as a form of tent, and soon her hands were in a place that seemed too private to touch.

“W-What is wrong?” Thor asked.

He stumbled back further, as he watched the scene unfold as an outsider. Frigga whispered words like ‘push’ and ‘breathe’, while the healers milled to and fro like ants in a nest, and Thor grew dizzy and feared dropping his son. The air grew hot. There was panicked and hurried voices all competing with one another, while various medical instruments were passed from person to person, and – as Loki screamed out with choked cries – Thor clutched hard onto Magni and looked with terrified and wet eyes to Eir. He cried out:

“ _What is wrong_?”

“There is another child to be delivered,” said Eir.

“A-Another – that is – it can’t –”

“I suppose Loki has not told you how he has avoided all check-ups.” Eir let out a hiss of breath. “We have not seen him since the two-month mark. If we had seen him sooner, we may have detected the presence of a second foetus. Please, keep back.”

“Twins? We are having _twins_?”

“You are having twins.”

Thor collapsed down onto a chair quickly placed behind him. A healer appeared in front of him and checked his vitals, while whispering back something or other to Eir, but the words fell flat as he tried to process the fact that there were two babies. They were raised as twins, but due to the lack of being biological siblings . . . the thought crossed no one’s mind . . . two babies meant twice the attention, twice the demands, twice the problems . . . Thor realised he was holding his breath. He breathed deep and looked to Loki.

The second baby seemed to come quicker. It was a matter of minutes that felt like an eternity, but soon Loki collapsed back onto cool sheets and fell unconscious, while a loud cry pierced the air and a small boy – Jotun in colour – was whisked away to be washed and checked and weighed. Thor nearly collapsed from his relief, but somehow found strength to pull himself from the chair and wandered over to Loki’s side with Magni in arms.

“Let him rest,” whispered Frigga.

Hands were placed on his shoulders by a healer, while someone moved the chair beside Loki, and – as he allowed himself to be manhandled into position – he dropped onto the cushions while Frigga and Eir tended to Loki. There was a great deal of bloodied sheets and soiled clothes, while fluids were inserted by a tube into his arm and the temperature of the room was lowered, and Thor was lost in a daze of various sensations. He listened to hushed voices and pattered footsteps. He smelled the iron and sweat and incense . . .

“My lord, would you like to hold your other son?”

Thor jerked awake. He looked at the red eyes of the Jotun babe, with black hair mussed and spiked from the quick wash given to him, and the markings on his skin looked unlike Loki or Laufey, but instead were unique and well defined. The healer carefully helped him to position his arms to allow for both children to be held, and – with tears flowing from his eyes – he held both sons and let the healer carefully wait at his feet, lest he grow uneasy with holding two newborns. Thor knew he never wanted to let them go. Frigga whispered:

“What will you call him?”

“Móði,” mumbled Loki. “He will be Móði.”

Loki half-opened his eyes, only to close them once more. Thor struggled to hold back a laugh, tempted to place a kiss to those tear-stained cheeks, but he could not move with his sons in his arms, so instead looked to Frigga and wept in joy. Frigga cried in turn, as she perched herself on the edge of the bed and stroked Loki’s sweat-soaked hair while he slept, and Eir attended to his body to below, where she spoke absently of some ‘afterbirth’. The words were lost on Thor, as he looked to his Jotun son and said in a soft voice:

“I suppose we shall name him Móði.”

“I am uncertain of that name,” whispered Frigga.

“Aye, I cannot say I like that our Jotun son shall be named ‘Brave’.” Thor let out an exhale of breath and smiled. “Still, I think Loki’s intentions pure. That he would engage with our child and wish for some input -? I will not take that from him. I simply wish to know if he wishes for Móði to be Thorson or Lokason. I know Magni must be Thorson, but –”

“They must both be Thorson, Thor. You know as well as I that Loki wishes to be known as the surrogate only to these children, so to name them otherwise would be to acknowledge his part in their creation. He would not forgive such an act. They must be Thorson.”

“Móði is Jotun in form. People will know the truth.”

“That . . . is a complication, yes.”

Frigga gently removed her hands from Loki, as she came around the bed to take Móði from Thor’s arms and hold him close to her breast with a warm smile, and – as she held him – Móði sneezed and spluttered and scrunched his nose. Thor laughed, only to stand and awkwardly change babies with her as Móði quietened once in his arms. The scent of her perfume was rich and heavy, but Magni made no such signs of discomfort.

She bounced Magni with natural warmth, unafraid of dropping him or harming him, and Thor wondered – as he slumped back into his chair – how she could appear so confident in holding her grandson. Thor feared every breath and every word, lest the movement or sound would somehow harm Móði, and yet there she was . . . freely interacting with Magni. Thor sank into the cushions and allowed his muscles to finally relax, even as healers milled about and barked orders to one another, and – in his state of near-sleep – he nearly missed Frigga’s words:

“They are both so beautiful.”

Thor reopened his eyes and looked to both sons. Móði was so close to Loki in appearance, while he seemed so quiet and slept so well, but Magni – although closer to Thor – was a strong mixture of both parents, with so many gestures and expressions. They were so perfect and so unique, each with their own personalities even at only a few minutes old, and tears sprung to Thor’s eyes as he realised how much he loved them. Thor whispered:

“I will never be able to thank Loki enough.”

He glanced to Loki and saw how he slept, exhausted from an act that Thor would never fully be able to comprehend, while he sacrificed so much – and endured so much pain – all so that Thor could have two beautiful sons before him. Thor leaned over to the bed and pressed a kiss to the cool skin of Loki’s forehead, before he pulled back with a staggered breath and wept once more through his happiness. He struggled to envision how he could love either son more than he did in that one moment, while that one moment he wished would last forever.

Thor was complete.

 


	25. Chapter 25

Thor bolted upright.

It took his eyes seconds to adjust, as he rubbed away the sleep. He struggled to focus his vision, even as he swung heavy and fatigued legs around the side of the bed, and – looking into the crib just a foot away – the image of his son drifted in and out of his vision. Thor yawned to see the small mouth wide open in a loud scream, while blue cheeks appeared all the darker for the force of his cries and the lack of breath to his lungs.

The large crib looked empty with only the small babe. Móði fisted tiny hands until the knuckles looked white, while he writhed and kicked and wept, and – as Thor climbed out of bed – he gently scooped his son against his chest. He rested Móði’s head against his chest, so that his heart would be heard against that tiny ear, and he stroked soft locks of black hair while he supported the neck. He vaguely remembered Frigga’s advice . . . _‘support the neck’, ‘beware the soft spot upon the head’, ‘do not swaddle him too tight’ . . ._ Thor yawned.

“Loki,” muttered Thor. “I am tired. Will you help me?”

Thor fell back onto the bed. Móði continued to scream; Thor winced, as the piercing sound struck his ears, while he patted that small back and hummed loud songs half-remembered from childhood, but – as much as his body craved sleep – Móði only wept. He wondered whether red eyes could become bloodshot, while he waited for Loki to awaken to the sounds, but a simple roll of his head revealed the bed was deprived of any other presence.

“Perfect. Thank you, Loki.”

He climbed to his feet once more, as he carefully lowered Móði to the bed. The screams increased in intensity, as Thor floundered about the bedroom for a shirt and slippers, only to return to Móði and lift him back against his chest. Móði softened his cries, but they continued with such intensity that his breath would stop and he would choke on the air, forcing a rush of adrenaline through Thor as his heart raced and mouth ran dry. He let out a shuddered breath and rushed toward the bedroom doors, where he struggled to open them.

Every step only added to his panic. Thor looked rapidly from door to door, as he searched for any sign of Loki while he continued to bounce Móði and hum soft tunes, but Móði threw himself about with a strength that seemed impossible from a newborn. The memories of hundreds – perhaps thousands – of battles sprung to mind, but none seemed to provoke the same fear at seeing his son so distressed. Tears threatened to prick at his eyes.

_‘I am telling you that the trade embargo is a failure.’_

Loki. Thor relaxed on hearing that familiar voice; his muscles softened and his shoulders sagged, while he threw back his head with a long exhale of breath, and he continued through the hallways now able to pay true mind to his environment. The guards watched him with a curious eye; a few servants even hovered at the far end of the corridor, one jerking forward as it to attend him and pulling back as if unsure her help was needed. Thor waved them away. 

Móði slowly ceased his cries. There were strange mumbled sounds, before silence descended and – as Thor looked down – he saw red eyes linger half-closed while Móði nuzzled against Thor, before finally . . . he slept. Thor laughed and blinked away tears, as he wandered with lazy steps over to the doorway to the meeting hall, and threw himself onto the pillar to the open archway. He kept his eyes entirely on Móði, even as he saw Loki and Odin in his peripheral vision, but neither of them said a word even as they saw him from the distance.

“Aye, now you are quiet,” teased Thor.

He bounced Móði with a smile, but he smile soon fled. Thor glanced inside the hall to see Loki and Odin hunched over a wide table in heated debate, with Loki’s blue fingers jabbing at several documents while Odin gestured to an annotated map, and – while the two men bickered – a small travel cot sat not far from Loki. Magni sat inside the cot. The familiar blue eyes twinkled as he looked between both men, while his hands and feet moved with happy gurgles, and – every other word – Loki would look to him with a smile.

Thor let out a hiss of breath, as he threw back his head on the column behind him. He listened to Móði’s small breaths, while Magni giggled and gurgled from beside Loki, and was forced to bite his tongue until he tasted iron and he swore through the pain. He barely noticed as footsteps echoed through the hallway behind him, until a gentle hand rested on his barely clad shoulder and a female figure appeared before him with a smile. Frigga asked:

“Another sleepless night?”

Móði sneezed as Frigga reached out to stroke his cheek. The scent of her perfume too strong for his small lungs, while nearly stirring him out of his slumber, but she soon pulled back with a soft laugh and leaned in to press a kiss to his blue head. Thor noted that she was dressed only in a nightdress and a dressing gown, likely having woken to the absence of Odin and wandered in search of him, and – on seeing on how she looked inside the hall, with folded arms and pouted lips – he knew his suspicions to be true.

“I did not expect to see anyone else awake,” said Thor.

“I could say the same,” teased Frigga. “Your father was not in bed when I awoke, and – even though he must rest, as there are so few years before him – he overworks himself to the point of exhaustion. I expected to see him here, but I did not expect to see Loki with him. I will have words with your father later. Loki must still be in confinement.”

“That is not my main concern,” admitted Thor. “If Loki refuses to take to bed-rest after the birth, there is little that I can do to stop him, but it infuriates me that he would take to Magni with such ease and leave Móði with me . . . as if unwanted or unloved.”

“I am sure that is not the case, my son. Loki knows well that you struggle with two children, while Magni is by far the easier of the two to attend, and – as such – it would not surprise me if he took one to make things easier upon you during the night. If he took Móði, he would only awaken you in frustration at being unable to tend to his needs. It would defeat the purpose in allowing you a few extra moments of sleep. Loki meant well.”

“He did not want a child at all! Does it not concern you that he has taken to the child most Asgardian in nature, while leaving the Jotun child entirely with me? I am supposed to be their primary caregiver, but somehow Magni always ends up in Loki’s arms and is never in my presence when I awake. I worry that he plays favourites. I worry what that may mean.”

“You have been a father for only seven days, Thor. It is early days.”

“It is not too ‘early’ for Móði to notice such differences.”

Thor stepped away from the archway. The hallways were eerie in their silence, so that Loki’s voice echoed loud enough that each word could be clearly heard, and he watched as Odin gesticulated wildly to the maps and various documents. It was a heated discussion. Odin clad in full armour, while Loki dressed in formal Asgardian attire, and – in a far corner – a scribe sat with her head bobbing up and down in half-fought sleep. Thor shook his head and buried his nose into Móði’s hair, as he breathed deep the baby scent and whispered:

“He only quietens when he hears Loki’s voice.”

Frigga followed Thor away from the door, before she reached for Móði. He sneezed once more, enough that Thor opened his mouth to object, only for Frigga to quirk an eyebrow in his direction and pull Móði into her arms. There followed a few more sneezes, until Frigga balanced him with admirable expertise and removed a handkerchief from her breast pocket, and – handing it to Thor – he noted that it was stuffed with various medicinal herbs.

He slumped back against the wall. A loud sigh escaped his lips, as he shoved the handkerchief into his pocket and watched as Móði giggled and smiled and fidgeted against her, while she sang in a low voice a beautiful song half-remembered from his youth. He smiled and closed his eyes, as images of clinging to her skirts and the sun shining on pale skin came to mind, enough that he could almost smell the freshly cut grass and hear Loki’s laughter from across the gardens. All tension fled from his muscles.

“I think you are mistaken,” said Frigga.

“No, he will weep until he ceases to breathe.” Thor winced. “It terrifies me more than I can put into words; we never expected twins and his arrival was such a surprise, but – from the moment I held him – I knew I would love him always. I do all that I can to cease his cries, but only when Loki’s voice is heard does he stop. I never seem to be enough.”

“Thor, you are too much like your father. Do you know that you would scream whenever he tried to hold you? Oh, it broke his heart! He would never show such emotion in public, but – behind closed doors – I remember him once brought to tears over your crib.”

“Truthfully? What did he do to fix the matter?”

“He learned to relax.” Frigga smiled warmly to Thor. “It turned out you disliked the coldness of his armour, so he first learned to strip himself of such metals, and then you disliked how he tensed in fear whenever he held you. One day I handed you to him while he was distracted, so he was free from tension, and – to his surprise – you did not weep. From that day onward, you never once wept when he held you. The tension was gone from his body.”

Thor watched as she adjusted Móði, so that he was cradled in her arms in a more traditional position, and – as she cooed and coddled him – he laughed in such a way that Thor grew more at ease, unable to tear his eyes away from their son. He saw how those red eyes were flecked with green, just like Loki, while his chubby cheeks reminded him so much of childhood photos, even as he reached up small hands to Frigga’s cheeks. Frigga looked back to Thor and gently eased Móði back into his arms, with no complaint from the babe.

“You relax when you hear Loki’s voice,” said Frigga. “Móði is but a newborn, as such he has no concept of rationalisation or empathetic response, and so he relies on instinct to tell him what is right and wrong. He feels you tense and so he tenses, but when you relax on hearing Loki’s voice . . . he too relaxes . . . you have mistaken correlation for causation, much as how your father thought himself at fault for your cries. He loves you dearly, Thor.”

“I should not rely on Loki so much, is that what you mean?” Thor pressed a kiss to Móði’s forehead. “I know what I swore to Loki. I swore that he would not have to parent our children, just as I swore that I would take all responsibility over them, but I did not envision that it would be such an immense and difficult task. I assumed this would come natural.”

“All do,” admitted Frigga. “I saw how wonderful my friends were with their children, enough that it seemed to be the easiest thing in the world, but nothing prepares you for the sheer love – and fear – that you feel when you first hold that child in your arms.”

“I fear to so much as put him down to sleep.”

Thor gently shifted his arms, so that he could free one hand. He reached out to touch impossibly soft cheeks, letting his rough fingertips trace the unique patterns, and laughed as Móði opened and closed his mouth to try and latch to his finger. Thor glanced to Loki, to make sure that criticising eyes could not see, and allowed Móði to use his finger as a pacifier, while watching those red eyes close and little hands finally relax. Thor whispered:

“How is it possible to love a child so much?”

Frigga stepped forward and placed her hands on his cheeks, before standing on her toes to press a kiss to his nose, and – as she pulled away – Thor finally understood the sacrifices she made for him throughout his life, as well as the infinite love that was only ever an abstract concept until his sons were gifted to him. Thor watched as she moved back, with her eyes warm upon Móði, and he held close his son with a tear that threatened to fall. The hallways were silent except for Loki and Odin as they bickered, but all he heard was Frigga’s:

“I am glad that you have taken so well to fatherhood.”

“I sometimes feel that I shall burst,” admitted Thor. “I watch them as they sleep, so that every murmur from them has me jumping upright and running to their sides. I obsess over the exact amounts that they eat. I worry if they get too much sun, as well as too little. I look to them and I see infinite potential . . . I see our future . . . I just wish that I could share that experience. I see how Loki distances himself, but it’s more than I can endure.”

“You cannot force Loki to change his emotions.” Frigga looked sadly to the archway. “If he truly does not wish for children, he may always see your sons as his nephews, but I fear that Móði has forced him to see them truly as something more . . . Móði looks too much like him, enough that we cannot hide his parentage unless we cast such spells as we cast upon Loki.”

“No. We swore never to lie to our sons.”

“That may be why he seeks for distance. He is conflicted, torn between wanting space and yet feeling some form of attachment, and – while it is true that such paternal love is not an automatic or guaranteed instinct – I do believe that Loki has separated himself out of self-preservation. He longs for a family, but he knows you cannot raise the children together.”

“Aye, so I have been told!” Thor looked to Móði with narrowed eyes. “Loki threw me out of his rooms, too afraid of what people may think, and it is only time before his confinement ends and he throws me out of his rooms once more. He believes that our being a family is to destroy our family, as if he must disown me as his brother to accept me as his –”

Thor bit his lip. He looked to Frigga with wide eyes, as his lips trembled in search of words, but – as he watched her – he saw only that she looked to Loki and Odin with no indication she had heard anything beyond the ordinary, and instead she looked almost at peace. The lines on her face deepened with the darkness of the night, while her posture and gestures were so relaxed and so natural, and he was forced to look away as he thought with shame to the words he might have let slip. Thor let out a shuddered breath.

“I apologise,” said Thor. “I spoke out of turn.”

Frigga said nothing in response. He saw no judgement or concern in her eyes, but he did notice how her expression turned stern and her eyes narrowed, and he wondered if her mind played through the thousand complications that would arise. There was a loud gurgle from Móði, and – as Thor looked down – he saw those blue cheeks darken and those eyes scrunch shut, only for him to finally relax and a terrible smell too overcome the air.

Móði looked almost proud, enough that Thor smiled despite himself, and – as he carefully adjusted Móði to avoid putting pressure on his filled diaper – he accidentally looked into the meeting hall and caught Loki looking back at him. Loki smirked. _He smirked_. It brought a frustrated smile to Thor’s lips, as he glared back and saw Loki give an exaggerated look of surprise and innocence, before he quickly returned to a mature and regal stance when Odin cast his eye back at him. Thor sighed and shook his head. Frigga said:

“I see how you look at him.”

Thor blushed and looked back to Frigga. Those blue eyes looked at him with a raised eyebrow and half-raised smile, while she folded her arms in a manner too reminiscent of Loki, and – as she stared him down – he buried his head against Móði and shrugged. The truth was too terrible to say aloud, enough to damn them both before anything had begun, and so he focussed his attentions upon the son who started to murmur in discomfort. The smell grew stronger, while Móði writhed as if to somehow escape. Thor muttered:

“I do not know what you mean.”

“It is the same way I look upon your father,” whispered Frigga. “Even as he infuriates me, I know that he is my heart and that I could love no other as I love him. He challenges me to be better than what I am, while I complement him and complete the parts of him which he lacks, and – together – we become better than the sum of our parts. I love him.”

“I always wished for that same love.” Thor bit into his lip once more. “I saw myself with one that would always support me and push me forward, where I could hold them after a long day and feel better for their presence, but . . . Loki is my brother. I cannot think of such a thing!”

“You worry that you project upon him, as he is the father of your children.”

“I worry that the world will shun us for the act of incest.”

The hallway grew cold as he held Móði close. He listened to the creak of the guards’ armour, while paper rustled from the hall each time Odin stabbed at its surface, and Magni started to murmur from his crib in a way that demanded attention. Thor scrunched closed his eyes, desperate to push down the shame. He could already envision the scandal that would sweep over their realm . . . the gossip of his friends . . . the condemnation of his father. . .

Thor jumped as Frigga placed a hand on his arm, and – as he blinked away tears – he saw how she lowered her head and cast on him a firm gaze, enough that he saw the unshed tears in turn and the way she grasped at his arm for support. He looked briefly into the hall, where Odin focussed on them and Loki followed his eye with a curious expression, but Frigga only stepped away further down the hallway, as she gently pulled Thor alongside her until both were out of sight from the men beyond. Frigga asked him in a whisper:

“What do you feel for him?”

Thor winced and thought to the days spent side by side . . . staring into red-green eyes, while Loki laughed and complained about morning breath, and how Magni would gurgle for attention while Móði cried . . . ‘ _you cross too many lines, Thor’_. . . he let out a staggered breath and shrugged. He wanted to lie, but he knew that the smile on his lips betrayed him. It was too easy to think of dreams half-dreamt and desires half-whispered, as he admitted:

“I feel that I love him.”

Thor laughed and let the tears fall, as he held a little too tightly on Móði and saw the tears that ran down Frigga’s cheeks, and – as the fear and love coursed through in equal measure – he drew in a deep and staggered breath, relieved at finally saying the words aloud. He listened as Loki continued to argue. He listened as Odin laughed at some comment. The world around them continued, even as the days grew closer to their sons’ first public appearance, and he knew only one thing for absolute certainty:

“I love him.”

 


	26. Chapter 26

“He is asleep,” whispered Thor.

Móði rested well in his arms. The lines on his face were almost smooth, while his little lips puckered and pursed with silent dreams, and Thor smiled as finally – with steadily slowing whines and whimpers – those red eyes closed. He brushed a callused finger over soft cheeks, as he relished at how soft the skin was to the touch. Móði was perfect. It brought tears to his eyes to put Móði down in his cot, while Magni stirred just beside him.

The two newborn babes lay side by side. It took all his strength to leave them, as he placed a kiss to each forehead and let out a staggered breath, but – pulling himself away – he sat down onto the bed just a few feet away and swung his body around to lie down. The furs warmed his skin and were soft against his body, enough to break the cold as he pulled them high over bare chest and arms. A cold breeze came from the open windows, but Loki lay clad only in an old night-shirt and with no furs or blankets over his frame. He looked comfortable.

Thor smiled at how much Loki looked like Magni, even with features and race so much more alike Móði, and he let his head roll to the side to watch Loki’s slow breaths in and out while he dozed. A few minutes passed, but soon Loki opened eyes to gaze without much focus on Thor. They lay in comfortable silence. Thor tried not to laugh at the image they must have made, one dressed as if for summer and the other covered as if for winter. Loki murmured:

“My confinement will soon end.”

Thor let his smile to fall. He glanced to their sons, where both were so at peace, although Móði would toss-and-turn just like Thor, and those small legs kicked at his swaddling cloth to rid himself of unwanted warmth. Thor closed shut his eyes, while he swallowed back a forming lump in his throat. He could feel Loki’s eyes boring into him, while the silence allowed him to hear the uncomfortable sound of bedsprings from another room whose occupants – unfortunately – equally decided to throw open balcony doors. Thor said in turn:

“You still wish for me to leave your rooms.”

“Along with the children, yes.”

“I know you worry what people shall think,” said Thor. “I will not deny that it worries me, too, but why not let them think what they shall? We make a good team, Loki. You may wish to be just an ‘uncle’ to the boys, but you have helped me just as much as if you were ‘father’ to them, and they have bonded with you just as they have bonded with me.”

“Can an uncle not love his nephews?” Loki sighed. “I will continue to help you raise them, Thor, but I cannot be expected to be father to them. The six-week confinement is at its end, as such you need to leave my rooms. You know as well as I that such rumours would damn us.”

Thor let out a hiss of breath, as he cast his eyes about the room. A torn gown hung from a far hook, while Thor’s belongings were piled into varies stacks nearby, and on the table sat various jerked meats next to freshly baked breads. The scent of wine lingered beside baby formula, while books about the economic history of Vanaheim lay alongside children’s books with no runes and only pictures. Thor spotted his strewn armour across the floor, while soaking wet towels of Loki’s left puddles by the _en suite_ doors. It was _their_ room.

The chill from outside increased enough for Thor to hug against the furs, while his eyes traced over Loki’s prone form. He tried desperately to prevent his eyes from moving to the hem of the shirt, already so high on Loki’s thigh from the way he threw his arms above his head, and Thor noticed a new red line on Loki’s lower arm. It peaked just over the cuff of his shirt, completely visible until Loki caught his eye and adjusted his arms. Thor muttered:

“You cannot be trusted alone, Loki.”

Loki scoffed and rolled onto his back. He gazed at the ceiling with a cold gaze, red eyes narrowed enough to force lines to deepen on his forehead, and his black hair – already longer than Thor ever recalled seeing – splayed about him like a halo. Loki pursed his lips and licked at them until he visibly swallowed, while his arms wrapped around his torso and he pulled one leg high while the other lay flat. Loki asked in a cold voice:

“You cannot trust the Jotun?”

“I cannot trust the man who avoided the healers for four months!” Thor rolled onto his side. “It is not only that, but you worked through your labour pains! You purposely chose to hide in the library doing paperwork, even attended meetings with father, and – when you finally were forced to see the healers – it was too late for you to be given proper pain management.”

“It is my body,” said Loki. “I make my choices.”

“Your choices could have killed you,” whispered Thor. “What if something had gone wrong? What if there were complications? I love you, Loki. I cannot bear to imagine a life without you; if you were to throw yourself into an abyss, I would be there to jump after you.”

“Do you think I never noticed that? Do you think me oblivious? I have been manipulating you since we were children, and – if you wish for honesty – sometimes I think you _allow_ that manipulation, for you are no fool and no child. It would not be so bad, but others have noticed, too! How long until insinuations are made? Until outright accusations?”

Thor continued to watch Loki. Thor struggled to slow his racing heart, while a cold sweat broke over his skin, and – with a dry mouth and wide eyes – Thor slid the furs down to his waist, desperate to let the cool breeze hit his bare skin. Loki said nothing for the longest time, but simply clasped his hands together over the small bulge to his stomach, which had yet to be worked away from after the birth. He was a beautiful mystery. Thor gnawed at his lip and fingered at the cool sheets under hand, while he waited for Loki to finally say:

“Your feelings for me are impure.”

It was a heavy accusation. It was also true. Thor winced and ran his hand over his face, while he silently prayed Móði would give a loud cry and distract from the serious topic, and yet – as he listened with a strained ear – the only sounds with murmurs as Móði ‘talked’ in his sleep as was his strange habit since birth. Magni was ever silent. Thor’s heart raced in his ears, while every beat hurt at his chest, and it took all his strength to ask:

“Are your feelings any different?”

Loki rolled onto his side. He lay only a few inches from Thor, while he rested his hands between them, and – with slow and steady movements – Thor reached for him and gently entwined their fingers together. The skin was cold and dry, so unlike the warmth of his Asgardian form, but it was also something real and firm and so distinctly ‘Loki’. He held tight while his other hand moved to Loki’s waist and came to rest on his hip.

It was a small liberty, but one that Loki allowed. The shirt was thin enough to allow him to feel the cool skin soft beneath the material, and it moved with his hand as he stroked a slow path upward with a trembling hand. He kept his eyes locked on Loki’s, lest they fall to see indecent parts of him as the shirt pulled up, but Loki appeared still and wide-eyed even as he breathed a little faster, and soon his hand reached at a broad shoulder. Thor paused. He simply massaged at the firm muscle, before he moved higher to Loki’s throat.

He wrapped his hand loosely around his neck; his thumb traced light patterns on Loki’s jaw, while fingers threaded themselves through his Loki’s hair, and he moved closer – with hands still clasped between them – until his nose pressed against Loki’s and their breath mingled. There was a steady thrum beneath his palm that increased in speed, while Loki breathed ever quicker and swallowed loud. Thor let out a shuddered breath and whispered:

“Your pulse is racing.”

“You are imagining it, Brother.”

“No, you are either afraid or intrigued.” Thor held a little firmer. “If you were afraid, you would either have a dagger in my side or cold words to lay insult. I will not do anything without your consent, Loki, but I do beg that you be truthful with me. Have you truly never thought about this? About us? Have I simply read too deep into matters?”

“Fleeting moments of curiosity are _not_ the same as incestuous desire,” spat Loki. “I remember when we bathed with Mother as children and you asked _many_ questions about our differences, but I do not for once imagine you have a desire for her form.”

“Do not be so revolting!” Thor curled his lip. “You know –”

“Is it really any different? I have looked to you and wondered how you take any maiden, for your length is so large and wide, and I often wondered whether you sated yourself through other means, _especially_ after I so endured that so-called ‘honour’ firsthand. Why do you not speak about the real issue, Thor? I saw your rage after the rape. I see how you shy away from flirtations. You seek to warm my bed only as you are too afraid to lay in your own.”

The words shook Thor to his core. He curled his lip and pulled back from Loki, only to see those red eyes flicker with untold emotion, and – as his heart raced and muscles tensed – the cruelty of Loki’s accusation lay heavy between them. Thor thought to the sofa in his room made up like a bed, while the new frame and sheets gathered dust, and yet he thought to the bed in Loki’s warm where he was no longer alone . . . a familiar face on awakening, a cool body to embrace . . . he swallowed back a lump in his throat and flared his nostrils.

It took all his strength to roll onto his back, but he still kept his hand clasped with Loki between them, and squeezed hard in a mixture of warning and reassurance. He stared at the ceiling with narrowed eyes. The pounding of his pulse within his ears echoed far too loud, enough it deafened him to all other sounds, and his breath was quick and fast as he replayed the cold accusations over and over in his mind. The trauma was still fresh.

Thor scrunched closed his eyes and looked to Móði. A half-smile fell on his lips, as he thought about how something so beautiful could come from something so ugly, and then followed the guilt . . . the shame . . . as if the violence against Loki could be justified. Thor ran his free hand over his face, pausing to cover his blue eyes and hide unshed tears, and – as his thumb traced patterns on Loki’s hand – he let out a long breath. It was difficult to reconcile the desire to undo the rape with the desire to never leave his sons. Thor whispered:

“Fine, I shall say no more on the matter.”

“You are being a child,” said Loki.

The words were grumpy and muttered. Thor turned his head and quirked an eyebrow, as he saw how Loki pursed his lips and narrowed his eyes, and – with a growl of frustration – Thor let go of his hand and sat upright. The furs fell to his waist, where they exposed his bare chest and arms, and his muscles bulged as he braced his weight on one hand and leaned over Loki with eyebrows knitted together and eyes strained. Loki huffed and rolled onto his side with his back to Thor, but the gesture only added to the sense of rejection. Thor coldly asked:

“Do you _wish_ for me to say more?”

“I wish for you to be honest,” said Loki. “I know you have always longed for a family . . . always wished for a love like Father and Mother . . . I see how you object to Fandral’s womanising, just as I see how you reject Father’s attempts to arrange a marriage, and – ever the idealist – you long for a person who shall be your world . . . your universe.”

“You have always been my universe, Loki.” Thor sighed. “I turned to you for advice. I defended you when none else would. I fought with you and bettered myself. You were always the person to whom I gave my attentions and could be my true self.”

“Aye, that is why we are _brothers_.”

“I am aware of what we are . . . all too well.”

“Are you?” Loki looked with watery eyes “I think you confuse two forms of affection. You have always surrounded yourself by family, always desiring a family, and in me – for now – you see _both_ forms of ‘family’. You see the father to your children. You see the brother you once loved. Do you not see how you have projected upon me an ideal image? It is as if you think we can be anything more than we are _without_ losing what we once were.”

“What about you, Loki?” Thor asked in a quiet voice. “Do you honestly not push me away in order to prevent yourself succumbing to temptation? I know you endure nightmares. I have slept beside you! I have seen how you shy away from physical affection. I have seen how you _still_ have kept that infernal gown from night. You are afraid to move forward!”

“I could not move forward even if I wished.”

Loki pinched the bridge of his nose. The blush on his cheeks was unlike an Asgardian blush, as the blue skin darkened into an almost black, but the blush was there and Thor leaned away from Loki to give him an iota of space. Loki sat upright in turn, but used his hands to pull at his shirt and cover his crotch with the tails. There was the scent of plain soaps and yet a small hint of iron, which brought a smile to Thor’s lips to realise that Loki avoided the perfumes and colognes to which Móði was so allergic. Loki muttered with a low gaze:

“I am not yet fully healed from the birth.”

Thor opened his mouth, ready to question Loki, but – with very slow realisation – Loki’s meaning became clearly and his mouth closed once more. He rapidly blinked and blushed. It was a shared embarrassment, as Loki buried his head into one hand and rubbed at his brow with clear frustration. Thor collapsed back onto the bed, pulling the furs up to hide his body from sight, and rubbed at his eyes with the base of his hands. Thor quietly added:

“There is more to intimacy than . . . sex.”

“Is not a sexless relationship simply what one calls brotherhood?”

“Now who confuses various types of relationships?” Thor gave an awkward laugh. “I think that some forms of emotional intimacy go past just friendship or familial ties, and ours has always been something deeper and more complex, only we do not allow ourselves the romance or physical intimacy that it entails . . . by which I do not mean just sex.”

“Of course, you don’t,” muttered Loki.

“Sarcasm, already?” Thor rolled his eyes. “Loki, I merely mean to say that I love you. If you wish to ignore my emotions, as we pretend all is normal -? Fine. I will pretend as if I have never uttered a word. I understand the stigma and I understand the crime, just as I understand that Father would never permit such a relationship. What I do not understand -? Why you would continue to insist that what we have is normal! It is not, Loki.”

“That is why I insist that you leave my rooms!”

“Do you think distance will _fix_ this?”

Loki shrugged and lowered himself onto the sheets. He raised both legs, which exposed a great deal of thigh and a hint of buttock, and – as Thor blushed and looked away – it became clearer to him that so many stolen touches had meant so much more than intended. Thor closed his eyes and listened as Loki breathed low and deep, while someone giggled from one of the neighbouring balconies and another person growled, and he blushed all the further to realise that he longed for what other couples already laid claim. He wanted _Loki_.

“Thor,” said Loki. “You will find another soon enough.”

“There is no other. There is only you.”

“You have all nine realms,” muttered Loki. “Do you honestly not look to others? You will see some maiden that catches your eye, and – with luck – it will be an Asgardian to whom Father will approve. You will live openly and she will bear you forth more children, and you will forget about this little episode. I only pray it is a Midgardian.”

Thor laughed loud and deep. He was forced to throw a hand over his mouth, as Móði groaned and kicked and sniffled in response to the sound, and – as his chuckles grew muffled behind his hand – Loki dropped beside him and cuddled closer. A cool head buried itself into the crook of his neck, while a hand was thrown around his waist, and he hugged Loki close and pressed his nose into the black locks of Loki’s hair, where he breathed deep and strove to hold back further laughter. A tear ran down his face as he asked:

“Can you imagine Father’s reaction?”

“Aye, ‘a mortal does not belong here in Asgard any more than a goat belongs at a banquet table’.” Loki laughed and smiled. “If he does not disown you upon the spot, I shall make good on our earlier bet and gladly serve you for an entire day. A mortal, indeed!”

“I do not think you would ever let me live it down.”

“Choose a mortal over me? Never!”

Loki laughed until he saw that Thor stopped. The words took time to hit his ears, but soon it seemed that Loki realised what he said, as he tensed against Thor and lightly scratched at his chest with a hand that clawed into a fist. Loki breathed a little quicker, while warm breaths drew moisture on Thor’s skin. The only sounds were of Móði as he turned and murmured, along with doors closing from another balcony, and the clinking of armour outside the doors.

Thor said nothing, but pulled back enough to lift Loki’s head. They locked eyes. Loki’s pupils were dilated and his lips parted, while his cheeks were ever darkened by the rich blush, and – as he licked at his lips – Thor held back the urge to curse. The cold air felt hot. Every hair stood on end, as Thor pulled Loki flush against him, and he grew almost light-headed as he leaned ever closer to Loki, until their foreheads were pressed together. Loki tilted his head, as if in silent offering, and Thor lingered his lips just a few millimetres apart.

There was no refusal . . . no sign of fear or disgust.

Thor bridged the gap and pressed their lips together. There was a sweet taste like milk and honey, while those lips were so much cooler than any Asgardian, and yet they were so plump . . . so soft . . . so receptive. Loki responded with soft movements, kissing back until smacked sounds echoed about the room, and then he deepened the kiss as a slip of tongue tried to make its way into Thor’s mouth. Thor gasped and pulled back, already fighting back his arousal so that it would not be felt by Loki. It was Loki’s turn to loudly swear.

“I need time, Thor,” said Loki. “What happened between us -?”

“I know,” admitted Thor. “I struggle with that, too.”

“It is a lot to reconcile. I know that what happened between us was a mistake, but I also know that you awoke and continued . . . I must process that, just as you must process how I came to you and lied to you and used effectively _molested_ you for personal gain. We both had our parts to play in that rape, but now to confuse matters with a romance?”

“A forbidden romance,” muttered Thor. “I will acknowledge that this is not ideal. I never envisioned a partner that I could not dance with at parties or whose hand I could not hold at official ceremonies, and such secrecy would be a pressure upon us.”

“That is why we both must think on this. Give me time.”

“How much time, Loki? I know how I feel.”

Loki pulled away and swung his legs over the bed. The sound of his bare feet slapping against stone woke Móði, who cried with such volume that Thor worried Magni would soon follow, but Magni stayed asleep and Loki – after grabbing a gown and quickly fixing his hair – slowly wandered to the crib with a roll of his eyes. He lifted Móði into his arms, but the screams only increased and Loki threw back his head to glare at nothing in particular. Thor was given no time to speak when Móði was shoved into his arms and Loki spat:

“I do not know how _I_ feel.”

Thor laid Móði on his chest. The sound of his heartbeat quietened Móði at once, while his warm skin provided a strong comfort, and soon the cries completely stopped and he slept so still that Thor was momentarily afraid. There came no tossing and turning, while no ‘talking’ in his sleep, and – although he cried out in protest at the furs – he appeared perfectly content to sleep on Thor while Thor prepared to sleep in turn. Thor closed his eyes.

He listened as Loki busied himself about the room, tidying various parts and organising others, and he knew that soon Loki would be in soft green fabrics, clad in casual daywear, while he attended to various papers and contracts. Magni remained silent. Móði brought a smile to Thor with his presence alone, and the exhaustion that swept over his body made it difficult for him to think too much on Loki’s words. He let the daze wash over him, while images flooded his mind and changed in rapid succession. Thor murmured:

“I love you, Loki.”

Loki sighed, but his footsteps came ever closer. Thor listened as a kiss was placed on Móði’s black hair, before he felt those soft lips pressed against his forehead in turn, where they lingered and a shuddered breath followed. The words that followed were as soft as they were non-committal, but were spoken with unusual sincerity:

“I know, Thor . . . I know.”


	27. Chapter 27

“Strange looking fellow, isn’t he?”

Fandral looked down at Móði in his hands. The expression he wore was hard to interpret, but the smile that spread across his lips – brightening his blue eyes, adding lines to his temples – spoke of no ill-intent with his words. He was observant to Móði. It only took a few seconds for him to turn his back to the sun, when he noticed how Móði broke into a sweat and threw himself about in an attempt to seek the shade. Fandral treated him well.

Still, the unintentional insult caused Thor’s heart to race. He let out a low hiss of breath, as his hands clenched into fists, and he sat with back rigid on the stone bench. The pollen from the various flowers brought small sneezes from Móði, which only added to the cold sweat and dry mouth, and the offence of the words lingered with the fear of Móði’s health. A sweat broke on Móði’s blue skin, although it slowly stopped now he was in the shade, and no longer did he toss his tiny body from side to side. Thor chastised in a quiet voice:

“That is my son that you mock.”

Fandral opened his mouth, as if to object, but soon closed it with a blush. He sat on the picnic blanket while Sif trained just in earshot, and – as she stabbed and slashed at the air – Thor made out her scoff at Fandral’s misplaced words. Volstagg laughed from the adjacent blanket, where he lay on his back and carefully raised Magni high in the air above him, each time bringing gasps and laughs from the babe who reached down with grabbing motions. The silence was a comfortable one, broken only by small sneezes and swords unsheathed.

Hogun wandered from a nearby tree. He stood behind Fandral and took Móði from him with such speed and expertise that Thor could only blink and gape, amazed with the skill that even he had yet to employ, and – for a moment – he felt shame to forget that Hogun was also a father. Fandral glared back at him, the offence clearly writ about his features, until he waved a hand and watched as Hogun retreated into the shade under the trees. Fandral muttered:

“I did not mean to mock him.”

“Of course not,” chirped Volstagg. “See how beautiful he looks! I can guarantee that he will have many admirers and suitors when he’s older, and it won’t hurt that he looks so – well – exotic, I suppose. Is that the right word? It makes him sound more like a commodity.”

“I would use a different word,” called Sif.

“Well, our voluptuous friend _does_ have a point,” added Fandral. “Móði is a very handsome child, but there is no hiding his Jotun heritage and people will be drawn to him for that alone, and – as such – it may be good to teach him how to tell apart those who love him for him and those that would love him only to use him. Not everyone has good intentions.”

“You think too far ahead.” Sif paused to catch her breath. “The bigger issue is that Móði looks too much like Loki, enough that it is impossible to hide his heritage, and already people talk and gossip and whisper that Thor and Loki are in some incestuous relationship.”

“Ah, _that_. I wasn’t aware the rumours spread that much.”

“Everyone is talking about it,” added Sif.

Thor winced and ran a hand over his face. He said nothing, even as Sif wandered over to where Fandral and Volstagg rested, and watched as she fell into a sitting position and wiped away her sweat with an old rag. There was no acknowledgement of Magni, who now lay on Volstagg’s chest and kept his hands clasped on his beard as if for reassurance, but she did smile whenever he made a gurgling noise of amusement. Thor smiled and held his hands between parted legs, as he stared down at the soft grass and said in a low voice:

“Father may have found a solution.”

Volstagg sat upright, with both hands clasping Magni to his chest. Magni was already so much larger than Móði, even at just eight-weeks old, and – in the two weeks since Thor’s confession to Loki – the boys seemed to grow at an immense rate. There were small laughs and gurgles from Magni, while Volstagg bounced him in one hand and patted his back with the other, and Fandral laughed at the sight. Sif sighed and asked:

“What solution is that?”

“Father will claim that Loki provided the egg,” said Thor. “It is not ideal, but we are not biologically related so there is no legal reason why Loki could not be both surrogate and egg donor to my heir. It will also squash any rumours we were intimate. The official line will be that we used insemination and Loki will remain as uncle to the children only.”

“That is not an ideal solution,” added Volstagg. “Still, Loki _was_ insistent on not lying to Móði or hiding his heritage, and I suppose he will always know where he came from, but – well – do you not think he’ll wonder why his father is so adamant on being his uncle?”

“Especially being the only one in this realm like him,” added Fandral.

“You think he will feel rejected?” Thor asked.

“Well, I would.” Fandral shrugged. “He may grow up realising that surrogacy is a rather detached affair, and that Loki _is_ indeed his uncle for all intents and purposes, but – equally – Loki _did_ carry him and nurture him and share with him his genetics, so . . . it may be difficult to understand how one _can_ be detached without there being an . . . issue.”

“The issue being . . .?”

No one finished the sentence. Thor looked from face to face, but each one was grim and refused to meet his eyes, and – as he let out a long sigh of breath – he realised that Móði might grow to blame himself much in the same way that Loki blamed himself. There was no denying that Móði’s blue skin stood out against Hogun’s brown skin, or that simple scents caused sneezes where others would breathe deeper, and Loki was the only other person like him within their realms. The rejection would sting. Thor ran his hand over his face.

He opened his mouth to speak, but soon closed it on sight of Loki.

Loki stood at the far end of the garden, almost hidden in a copse of trees just out of earshot, and – as they locked eyes – Thor noticed his outfit and blushed. The plain green was unadorned and minimalist, free from armour or leather, while the long coat that complemented it so perfectly touched at his ankles with a flutter from the breeze. It clung to his figure that was now returned to normal, while his red eyes seemed to burn in the shadows.

Thor stood and signalled to Loki. Four sets of eyes followed his gaze; Loki flared his nostrils and glared in their direction, before he spun around and hid behind the largest tree, where he remained completely out of sight and yet clearly still present. Thor smiled and stepped over the picnic blankets. He paused only to bend down and place a soft kiss to Magni’s blond locks, while he caught Sif’s raised eyebrow and Hogun’s pursed lips, and – with a sigh – he knew it would be a long time before the trusted Loki again. Thor said with a sigh:

“Excuse me a moment, my friends.”

Thor walked with quick strides towards Loki, but – finding the previous spot empty – was forced to traipse further into the wooded area, where he soon found him leant against a wide tree completely hidden in the shade. It was impossible to tell that he had given birth. The eight weeks had passed by with a blur of work and exercise and constant activity, without a single complaint from Loki who seemed content to be kept busy during that time.

Loki folded his arms across his chest. He looked up to the treetops above, where the leaves rustled with a soft sound and the light played with shadows through the gaps, and – as Thor slowly stepped closer to him – Loki finally cast his eyes in his direction. A smile played across Loki’s lips, while Thor leaned against the tree beside him. They were out of sight. He heard the sound of swords clashing, as Sif and Hogun likely sparred, while Móði cried and Volstagg laughed at Fandral’s attempted to cheer him up. Loki interrupted the silence with:

“I have made up my mind.”

Thor parted his mouth with a shuddered breath. He ran a hand through long locks, while he licked at his lips and tried to still his racing heart, but – as he looked instinctively around them – he could find no distraction. A light breeze caught at Loki’s hair and clothes, as he closed his eyes and leaned back his head onto the back, and yet he showed no sign of the concern that audibly pulsed in Thor’s ears. Thor bit into his lip and walked close to Loki, unable to read his expression and fearful of the eventual answer.

“Here?” Thor asked. “Now? Hidden away in the gardens?”

“Well, if you’d rather never know what I –”

“That is not what I mean.” Thor rubbed at his face. “I simply worry that we may be overheard; should our friends come looking for us, it would be most difficult to explain away such a conversation as a normal one between siblings. What would you have me tell them?”

“Tell them what you will. It matters not to me.”

“It mattered to you just a fortnight back.”

Loki walked away. He moved just a few steps, with the soles of his boots cracking a few stray leaves underfoot, and the pout on his lips spoke of great emotion, while the lines at the corners of his eyes deepened and widened. Thor followed behind. He reached out to place a hand on Loki’s shoulder; he gripped tight enough that Loki could not move forward, but loose enough that he could pull away should he desire. Thor whispered:

“You feign indifference, Loki, but you –”

“I am _terrified_ , yes.”

Loki spun around with wide eyes. The red was shimmered with unshed tears, while his lip trembled until he drew in a deep breath and controlled his expression, and Thor lowered his gaze with a slump of his shoulders. No words were exchanged as they listened to Móði weep, only to be silenced once the clash of swords stopped and Hogun grunted to take him back into rough arms, and Thor absently smiled as he turned his head in their direction. Thor scrunched closed his eyes and breathed in deep, before he centred himself and asked:

“Why are you afraid?”

“I worked hard to regain our father’s trust,” admitted Loki. “I even worked through my labour, desperate to get ahead of my duties and appear dedicated to my work, and I have spent every waking hour locked in various rooms with delegates and ambassadors and royalty from all nine realms and beyond! What do you think a scandal would achieve?”

“You fear losing his trust and the power you have gained.”

“Let me be frank, Thor.” Loki locked eyes with him. “I would betray you in a heartbeat were it to secure me the position that is owed to me, but – _with that said_ – I would kill the man that thinks he has a right to harm you. I would even give up a great deal in order to be by your side, because if anyone is allowed to permanently rid the universe of you -? It will be me.”

“You are a liar even now,” spat Thor through cold laughter. “I know you, Loki. I know you did not work through your labour pains for our father’s benefit, but for the _same_ reason that you avoided the healers throughout your pregnancy! You hate your Jotun heritage. If you were to see the scans and hear the news and face the labour, it would have meant admitting to yourself that you _are_ Jotun and were bearing forth _another_ Jotun in turn.”

“Oh, yes, _this_ is a conversation that will make me swoon for you!”

“I do not want you to swoon, Loki, I just want _you_.”

Thor blushed deep. He spun around and paced, as he ran his hands over his face and kept his gaze away from Loki, who – completely still and with no sound of acknowledgement – stared ahead into nothingness with a paling of his blue complexion. Thor kicked at the leaves, before he turned to Loki and saw him turn back with a half-smile playing across his lips, and it brought a smile to Thor’s lips in turn. He watched as Loki walked over to him, hands crossed over his chest while Loki held back a laugh and asked:

“Will we ever _not_ argue?”

“I will be worried if that is the case,” teased Thor. “Mother always looked so disappointed when we fought as children, but – through it all – she never seemed surprised. This may work between brothers, but if we wish to be more . . . we must learn to communicate. You must not lie about your emotions, but nor can I rise to the bait or bait you in turn.”

“That is partly why I sought you out, Thor. If we are to pursue whatever this is -? I wish for us to go slow. I will not have us confuse things by going too fast, but instead slowly work through each and every step to uncover what is possible and what is not.”

“Do you think that the best course of action?”

“I cannot foresee the future, Thor. I am not a witch.”

 “Really? Then why do you dress like one?”

Thor pressed his lips together to hold back from laughter. Loki simply let out a hiss of breath and narrowed his gaze, for once not rising to the bait and keeping his cool, and for a moment – as Thor stepped ever closer to him – he wondered whether Loki was showing actual growth, enough that perhaps they could work as equals. Thor reached out to wrap a hand around his neck, where he relished at the sensation of cool skin and lightly brushed his thumb along that sharp jaw, and Loki only sighed in turn and nuzzled into the touch. Loki asked:

“Do you agree to go slow or not?”

“I agree, but I still need to know if you think it the best course of action.” Thor shrugged and pursed his lips. “I know that you cannot foresee what shall become of ‘this’, but surely you must have an idea about whether going slow shall help versus us diving into the deep end?”

“Let us get one thing straight, yes? It will not be _my_ ‘deep end’ delved into.”

“I thought you wished to go slow?” Thor teased.

“That is not the eventual end goal?” Loki rolled his eyes. “Look, Thor, if we go public with our changing relationship or if it is uncovered too soon -? We may risk _destroying_ what family we have over something that may or may not even work long-term. It would be difficult enough bearing the look of shame from Mother’s eyes, but to know that ultimately it was worth _nothing_ as our romantic relationship was doomed to fail -? I could not bear it.”

“I have had that same fear. I know Father would be furious beyond all fury, potentially exiling the one of us that he sees at fault, and – to be accepted by our people – you would need to be disowned and lose all familial ties. It is a sacrifice I am not sure I could bear, so to expect that decision to be made lightly of you is not fair in the least.”

“I know you would not ask it lightly,” whispered Loki. “I know you would bear that burden in my place, if you could, but do you not see why it is important to go slow? The most difficult part will be physical intimacy, as the rape was traumatic for both.”

“As you say, let us take this slowly.”

Thor pressed his forehead to Loki’s, while he breathed deep the scent of natural soaps. The cool skin against his own provided a great comfort, while the patterns on Loki’s form left small patterns on Thor’s flesh, and soon both sets of eyes were closed as they held each other close and remained still. Thor ran his fingers through black hair, where the lack of product led to messy curls, and yet the small sacrifice on the part of Loki’s vanity led to far less sneezes from Móði whenever held. They moulded as if to one another.

The breeze picked up speed, enough that Móði ceased all cries and Magni began in earnest, and an eerie song emitted from Hogun’s lips, as he sang in his native tongue what sounded almost like a lullaby. Silence descended from the others. It was unusual to hear Hogun speak, but a sheer miracle to hear him sing. Thor chuckled and stroked at Loki’s neck, as he gently guided his head upward to match the inch or two difference between them.

The warmth from Loki’s breath mingled with his own, while their lips were so close that Thor could feel a tingle to his flesh and a quickening of his heart, and every second that they remained apart only added to the increasing heat. Loki finally broke the distance. The soft sound of light kisses echoed about the copse, until long fingers grabbed at Thor’s hair and yanked enough to force a hiss of pain. Thor’s mouth opened with the sound, allowing Loki enough time to quickly explore and pull back with rapid pants of breath. Thor gasped:

“Is this what you want?”

Loki blinked with clear confusion, still desperate for breath. He relished his grip on Thor’s hair, enough that Thor hissed in relief and lifted a hand to rub at his scalp, but – even as he sought to massage away the pain – the taste of wine and grapes lingered, enough for him to lick at his lips and swallow hard. Loki raised his fingers to his lips, as he narrowed his gaze and focussed on Thor with a searing intensity, until he said in a cold voice:

“Honestly? I do not know.”

“We do not have to do this, if –”

“I know, Thor. I know.” Loki let out a long sigh. “I also worry – if this _does_ work out – what it will mean for our children to no longer be my nephews but instead my sons. Will they resent me if I seek for distance? Will they expect parents who are together to love equally? I believe our love is forbidden for a reason, as it complicates so many things.”

“Let us not think too far ahead.” Thor scratched at his neck. “If we do fall in love, if we truly think that this is something sustainable and real -? We shall discuss all matters and find a way to make this work. Let us not ruin things before they have a chance to succeed, though, which is what shall happen if we ponder every potential problem. Let us find more time alone together; I shall ask Father to move my duties, perhaps align our schedules better.”

“So we steal away on secret dates? My, how romantic!” Loki batted his eyelashes as Thor laughed. “Very well, we shall spend time alone, as . . . partners. Do not steal away to my room, however, as we shall be noticed with your _bafflingly_ awful subterfuge skills.”

“What is wrong with my ability to -?”

“Oh, _please_! The last time you tried to sneak into a tavern, you simply wore a cape . . . a _cape_ , Thor! What kind of disguise was that? What would you have done if someone recognised your face? Lifted the fabric to hide your mouth and said ‘you’re mistaken’? You always blamed me for telling Father. Truth of the matter is that every single guard recognised you.”

Thor flared his nostrils and narrowed his eyes. He could see that Loki meant well, but an argument on the reasons why he was once caught past curfew would help no one, especially as it was symbolic of their sibling rivalry and not the actions of a romantic couple. Loki soon sighed and pressed a relatively chaste kiss to his lips, before pulling away and darting to the edge of the copse to look out at their friends and their sons. Loki chanced a look back to him, where he looked him up and down, before he said in a firm voice:

“I will come to your rooms.”

“Aye?” Thor asked. “Under whose guise?”

Loki rolled his eyes, while he straightened his back and looked ahead. Thor let out a long hiss of breath, as he walked out of the copse and followed his gaze, and – with a smile – he saw how Móði laughed in the shade where Hogun held him. Sif continued to train, but Fandral watched with avid interest her every movement, while Volstagg sat beside him with Magni barely comforted as the breeze cooled his skin and reddened his cheeks. Loki said:

“Go back to your friends.”

“When will I see you alone next?”

“I will come by this evening,” said Loki. “We can share a meal and call it our first date, and – after that – we can see whether we would like to continue this new relationship. Let us take it one date at a time, yes? I must go, but _do_ get Móði back inside, Thor. He may be in the shade, but I can hear his sneezes from here. He cannot endure the pollen.”

“You need not worry; I will take him back inside now.”

“And for goodness sake, remove some layers!”

“He is barely clothed as it is, Loki.”

Loki rolled his eyes and walked away. No other words were exchanged, leaving Thor to will away his erection and throw up his hands in frustration, and yet – as Loki marched back to the palace doors – he turned back for a few seconds to throw a wink in Thor’s direction. It brought a smile to Thor’s lips, as he shook his head and made his way back towards his friends, and he couldn’t help but mutter to himself as Loki headed out of sight:

“Goodbye to you, too.”


	28. Chapter 28

_Odin paused in the doorway._

_The table in the seating area was filled with paperwork. There was little sign of Thor’s possessions or attire, as every inch of space was taken by contracts and textbooks and loose pages of information, and – on the sofa before the table – Loki sat back with the tip of a pen pressed to his lower lip. He looked up with red eyes to Odin. The loose curls of hair were mussed and unkempt, while he quirked a black eyebrow on sight of Odin. Odin drew in a deep breath and cast his eyes around the bedroom, as he uttered:_

_‘I did not expect to find you here, Loki.’_

_Thor stirred from the sofa, as his head rolled on Loki’s lap. It was clear Loki could not read his face, for a large piece of parchment in hand hid Thor from sight, but that only meant that he failed to see the strange indentations on Thor’s skin . . . the patterns too clear to be from clothing, the lines too light to be from a long sleep. Thor slowly sat upright and rubbed at his eyes, while he waved in a casual manner to Odin and bowed his head._

_The babies rested in a cot beside Thor’s bed. Odin noted that the bed sheets were perfect, to the extent of not a single crease or fold, and the furs were unchanged since the bed was replaced, as if Thor spent his nights elsewhere. He glanced back to Loki and saw the blankets thrown over the sofa, as well as pillows piled next to the cushions, and – as Thor rolled his shoulders with a groan of discomfort – Odin fixed his stare on Loki. The darkness to his cheeks indicated a blush. A faint sweat was barely concealed on skin. Loki replied:_

_‘I came to ask Thor’s advice upon these revised treaties.’_

_‘Is that all? It looks as if you have been here a while.’_

_‘Thor insisted that – whenever the twins must be separated – we trade in who watches Móði and Magni,’ said Loki in a cold voice. ‘He does not want us to play favourites. I can agree to this decision, but – alas – I struggle to comfort Móði when he so cries. I thus thought I would ask Thor for some parenting advice while I was here . . . not that_ you _would understand.’_

_Odin clenched his fists and drew in a deep breath. He looked to Loki and saw a son somehow obedient in his disobedience, who knew how to play the rules to his advantage, but – in his arrogance – forgot who taught him such rule-playing and rule-breaking, as if he came fully formed from the womb in adult form. Loki stood and collected the papers from the table, ever deliberate and slow in his movements, until a small pile appeared in his arms that threatened to spill over at any second. He bowed to Odin with a smirk and said:_

_‘If you will excuse me, I have meetings to attend.’_

_Loki marched out of the door with the grace of a prince. He showed no sign of anything untoward, while his clothing was perfect and formal, and yet Odin caught an all too familiar scent as he headed toward the doors. The sound of his footsteps echoed away, while the door clicked closed behind him. Thor yawned. The situation was all too normal, yet so many small things spoke of something far darker, and both men expected him to remain oblivious._

_Odin let out a hiss._

* * *

“I am afraid that I cannot sleep.”

Odin stood on the balcony, as he overlooked the cityscape. The lights glistened in the darkness, standing out like stars in their own right, and he smiled to recognise a few small buildings here and there from his youth. There was a bar built into a sloping alleyway, where his friends would pull him away for a few stolen drinks. There was a cafe high on a hill on the other side of the city, where he would steal away for secret dates with his future queen.

The whole of his past lay before him. It was mapped out with memories and associations, while in the palace – only a few doors down – his future slept ready to make new memories in turn, and he struggled to focus through unshed tears. The cool breeze caught at grey hair and long night-shirt. He closed his eyes to listen to Móði’s sneezes and Sif’s laughter, while a door slammed elsewhere and armour clattered from the hallways, and all around him the world turned and life moved forward. It was a struggle to open his eyes once more.

“You are worried for our sons,” whispered Frigga.

Odin turned to face Frigga. He smiled to see how her loose hair cascaded over her shoulders, while her complexion – freed from cosmetics and paled by exhaustion – still looked so perfect, and her nightgown clung to her as if the years had not touched her. Odin held wide his arms. The smile on her lips brought colour to her cheeks and deepened the lines about her face, but she said nothing as she walked straight into his firm embrace, burying her head against his chest while he breathed deep the scent of her perfumed hair. Odin confessed:

“I fear there is something untoward at play.”

“What has raised these concerns?”

Frigga pulled back just enough to clasp his hands. He smiled to squeeze back, as he memorised the lines and folds that marked their age, and – as his chest tightened – allowed her to guide him back inside their rooms, until she led him to the large bed. A more primal part of him longed for distraction, but he gently laughed as she placed him at the edge of the bed and knelt on the mattress behind him. Two hands worked at his shoulders.

It brought a moan to his lips, as she kneaded the tense muscles, and he rolled his head with a soft sigh to feel various knots undone and his shoulders finally slump. The lights were low, enough shadows were cast through the lattices across various walls, and – as she hummed a low tune to herself – he turned his head to see her lips were pressed and eyes half-closed, enough that he knew she hid something from him. He smiled despite himself, as he took her hands and pulled them forward, so he could kiss at her wrists and feel her against him.

Frigga embraced him with a press of her lips to his cheek, before she sat back on the bed and carefully positioned the pillows to allow for a sitting position, and Odin – with a sigh – followed suit and sat beside her. He smiled as she moved beside him, so that she could rest her head on his shoulder and clasp their hands between them. It was clear that she suspected something, always the first to know, but he could not hold it against her. Frigga whispered:

“Why so concerned?”

“They have always been close,” observed Odin. “It has never much been a concern, aside from the bad influence that often held upon one another, but since the birth of Magni and Móði -? They cling to one another. I have seen Loki depend on Thor even when he depends on no one else, desperately seeking his approval even when he seeks to push him away.”

“I know what you mean, my love.” Frigga let out a long sigh. “I have seen Thor call Loki’s bluff in recent weeks, claiming that – while once he saw them side-by-side forever – he now realises that it is best their paths diverge . . . Loki’s face broke my heart.”

“That does not concern you? Loki attacks Thor when he feels threatened. Thor seeks to emotionally manipulate Loki when he feels cornered. That they would seek a co-dependent relationship based on brotherly bickering -? It is no foundation for a relationship. I have seen how they alternate between greatest friends and worst enemies, as if whatever is there changes from moment to moment, and I worry that whatever this is –”

“That it shall make matters worse.”

Frigga let out a long sigh, as she appeared to realise his concern. He moved one of his hands to stroke through her blond locks, cherishing the soft sensations as her hair moved like water around his fingers, and – as he buried his face against her – he breathed deep the rich scents that calmed him and provided a small comfort. The fingers of her hand traced patterns on the hand that still clasped to her other, enough to almost coax him into a sleep, and he smiled at the warmth her body provided pressed against him, as he cautiously admitted:

“I fear they cling to each other from trauma.”

Odin said nothing. He listened as Móði ceased his cries, only to be replaced by Magni’s loud screams for attention and Loki’s muttered curses, and – just before the balcony doors slammed shut – Odin was sure that he heard Thor whisper some words or other in turn. It was hardly subtle that they spent such time together, but equally he knew that they could dismiss his concerns with simple explanations . . . shared parenting . . . brotherly bonds. . .

“Trauma often redefines relationships,” admitted Frigga.

“You speak as if from the heart.”

“I do.” Frigga pressed closer to his chest. “Do you not recall the loss of Hela? We never spent a single night apart, not even after the birth or during political excursions, and yet . . . with her loss . . . we could not so much as look upon one another. There were too many questions, too much blame, and we saw Hela in each other with each look, as if our genetics provided a constant memory of the child we so mourned. I thought we would never move forward.”

“That is different,” whispered Odin. “We moved forward as we bore a strong foundation. We had a lifetime of memories and infinite potential for our future, and we knew best how to communicate with one another and support each other. Our loss was one shared. Our trauma was reduced by the knowledge we had our union. We were married . . . in love.”

“Do they not love one another? Do they not share a trauma? They are both lost in their own feelings of violation, but that does not mean they cannot relate to one another, as both experienced the same events and with each other no less. Who else could understand?”

“They cling to one another out of a desire to be understood?”

“That was my initial fear, but I do truly believe that Thor loves Loki. We cannot deny that their relationship was always co-dependent, enough that Loki never once said ‘no’ to Thor and Thor came to always expect Loki by his side, and now the changes in circumstance have only forced them to reconsider their perceptions of what was always there.”

Odin scrunched closed his eyes. He gripped at Frigga’s hair, only to loosen his grip, and looked through the dark rooms towards the open balcony, where the familiar sight of two ravens sat perched on the marble banister. They hopped to and fro with great freedom and slight caws, only interrupted by Magni’s murmured cries as Thor sang to him now back again through open doors, and Odin – aware of close proximity – made a mental note to keep their voices low. Thor would only seek further secrecy if he suspected they knew.

He drew in a shuddered breath and looked high, where the detailed patterns painted on the ceiling danced before his vision, and he smiled to remember how Loki – after many a nightmare – would crawl between them to ask stories of the murals above. A tear pricked at the corner of his eye, blurring his vision and forcing him to breathe slowly to compose himself, while a painful lump formed in his throat. Frigga asked in a quiet voice:

“You fear that they shall go further.”

Frigga pulled away just enough to lock eyes. He saw how she sat elegantly with legs folded beneath her, while her hands took his and held them on her lap, and – as she stroked at them and forced a trembling smile – he sensed her fear and strove to be strong for her sake. Odin drew in another breath and raised his head high, as he smiled in turn and squeezed back at her hands with a firm hold. The sound of Magni’s cries trailed away, while the ravens flew off into the night, and all that was left was the eerie yet comfortable silence.

“I fear they already _have_ ,” said Odin.

“What happened?”

“Loki sneaks away into Thor’s rooms.” Odin hissed a low breath. “He thinks I do not know, but I am aware it has been a nightly endeavour for some months, and now that Magni and Móði are in their third month . . . no acts are medically forbidden. Today I caught Thor supposedly resting his head on Loki’s lap, but there were subtle signs to something more.”

“I know you supposed Loki to be celibate, but you must be aware he has had relationships in the past?” Frigga smiled as his eyes widened. “He has never gone so far as to be penetrated, so you do not need worry about on that score, but he is no blushing maiden to be protected at all costs from those who would see him in a sexual light. If you are worried that he may be coerced -? If you are worried that there may be another pregnancy -?”

“I worry that I may lose my son.”

Odin looked away with a curled lip. The idea that Loki could have been intimate troubled him, but it was an absolute anger that he squashed on memory of earlier years, where Thor was once caught in some unused room and Odin congratulated him with a chuckle. If Loki were to know that Odin’s protectiveness ran stronger for him, it would be a truth only turned against him with some cruel and cold meaning attached. He held tight to Frigga’s hand. The racing of his heart was matched with a dry mouth and cold sweat, as tears slowly formed.

“You will not lose them,” swore Frigga.

“Aye?” Odin scoffed. “You know as well as I that is not the case.”

“If they do fall in love and we press too hard against this union –?” Frigga sighed. “Yes, I can foresee things perhaps ending badly for all. Thor will seek to run away with Loki, while Loki will resist and demand to stay to retain political power, and this will likely doom their relationship and tear apart our family. This I predict all too well.”

“Love is not love if it will not weather all obstacles.”

“I think we have not done right by our sons. Loki loves Thor dearly, but he knows now how to express these emotions and often self-sabotages out of insecurity, and Thor believes Loki to be his sole responsibility, unable to see him as one with self-agency.”

“That is not the issue.” Odin let out a staggered breath. “If Thor and Loki decide to move forward, we cannot have two princes of the realm engaged in an incestuous union! It would mean publicly disowning Loki, forcing Helblindi to acknowledge him as an heir of Laufey, and he would be forced to marry Thor to legitimise Móði and Magni! It would be the only way to allow for such a union by law, but I will not disown Loki. I will not lose my son!”

Odin pulled away from Frigga. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed, before he stood and buried his face into his hands, and – with a shuddered breath – he looked towards the balcony and blinked away frustrated tears. The breeze blew cool against his skin, while his hands clenched into tight fists that left crescent-shaped cuts on his palm, and the hint of a headache appeared at his temples, which he massaged lightly with his knuckles. He listened out for any sound of a familiar voice, but all that could be heard was Frigga.

He paced with head low and eye half-closed. Footsteps echoed loudly about the room, while he struggled to balance the duties of a king with that of a father, and – as he let out a staggered breath – he furrowed his brow and looked about their rooms with a half-smile. A painting by Loki adorned one wall, while furs from animals hunted by Thor lined various pieces of furniture, and every part of the rooms served as a reminder of a lifetime as a family.

“I cannot lose my son,” he whispered.

Frigga climbed to her feet and raced to his side. He barely found time to process his emotions as arms were thrown around him, and a hand pulled his head down into the crook of her neck, so that she would not see his tears and he would not feel self-conscious. Odin laughed to realise how well she knew him, while he lay kisses to that soft skin and held her ever closer, with hands buried into the fabric of her nightdress. Frigga stroked at his hair and used her free hand to rub at his shoulder, while he closed his eyes and listened as she said:

“This relationship of theirs may yet falter.”

“We may hope,” murmured Odin.

“If they return to being simply brothers, Loki will remain the egg donor and surrogate to Thor’s children and Asgard’s heirs.” Frigga blinked away her tears. “It still remains a controversial scandal, but there is no stigma of incest and no expectation to disown Loki, and our family can return to what it was before. You will not lose him.”

“There are too many variables! What if they choose to remain romantically entangled? What if they choose to leave for their king cannot condone an incestuous union? I am not long for this world and an heir must remain, but to force Magni to stay while they seek to leave . . . no, that is an action I could not bear. They would destroy our very family for lust and ‘love’? I have found so many potential brides for Thor, but not one catches his eye?”

“We cannot choose to whom we fall in love. I will not deny that this relationship upsets me greatly, but I remember how Thor looked upon Loki . . . such absolute adoration could not be feigned, Husband. I would rather see him happy than to see him merely content.”

“Can they be happy with such stigmas and scandals?”

“There is only one way to know.”

Frigga pulled back to stroke his cheek. It was a soft and gentle touch, which had him nuzzling against her palm, and soon she took his hand and led him back to the bed, where she pulled back the covers and helped ease him into a comfortable position. He laughed and chastised, as she momentarily made to tuck in the edges of the sheets, only to pull her down onto the bed where she yelped in surprise and landed with a bounce beside him. Odin pulled her close and kissed at her neck, while she strove to reassure him with a whispered:

“We do not know for certain if this is serious.”

The smile on Odin’s lips fell flat. He kept his head low against her, so that she would not see his furrowed brow or narrowed eyes, and yet he knew – without a doubt – she would support her sons regardless of their actions. Odin envied her. He continued with her kisses, while her hands came up to play with his long hair, and soon they pressed their foreheads to one another and simply locked eyes with a comfortable silence. Frigga continued:

“We must address this before it goes too far.”

“It has already gone far enough.”


	29. Chapter 29

Loki licked at his lips.  

He leaned against a far column, almost hidden out of sight. The many layers he wore were Asgardian in nature, albeit formal and form-fitting, and they emphasised his blue skin and red eyes so that he somehow looked more exotic than usual. It was difficult to see him through the crowd, as the decorative curtains blocked him from sight, but Thor – stood with his friends on the balcony – was given the perfect line of vision to Loki.

Loki used the curtains on the columns to his advantage. Few people ever gravitated to the edge of the hall, instead content to mingle and eat and dance central on the marble floor, and so Loki was free to raise the iced treat to his lips. It was long and thick, almost phallic in nature. Thor let out a shuddered sigh; Loki would brush it lightly against his plump and swollen lips, before he would lick a forming drop from the tip, and then run his tongue slowly from the base at his fingers to the very end of the treat. He could almost imagine a moan.

Thor blushed and adjusted Magni in his arms; he reclined on an expensive chair, while lifting his leg to hide his growing erection, and – uncomfortable with Magni so close – strove to tear away his gaze, but only became fixated as Loki slid the entire iced treat into his mouth down to the base, with half-closed eyes. A drop of moisture dripped down Loki’s chin, as he opened his eyes and locked his gaze directly on Thor. A voice echoed out:

“Bit of a devil, isn’t he?”

Thor jumped. He cradled Magni against him; Fandral leaned against the balcony railing with Sif beside him, while he nodded his head to Magni and smirked, and Thor – letting out a staggered sigh, as his heartbeat slowed and shoulders slumped – saw that none of his friends looked in Loki’s direction. Volstagg sat beside Thor with ale in his hands, while Hogun sat opposite with his back to Loki and a plate of food on his lap. They appeared casual, enjoying the music from the party within the hall, but before he could reply he was forced to yell:

“Ah, Magni! _Do not pull_!”

A tiny hand grasped at the braid in his hair. It yanked over and over, while Magni giggled and blew raspberries and tried to grasp at Thor’s beard, and – with a struggle – Thor was forced to fight with the four-month old to get him to sit nicely at his side. Magni pouted and frowned. The look on his face was too much like Loki, with blue eyes narrowed and fixated on Thor, before – with a swift movement – he tried to throw himself down onto the stone floor. Thor swore and caught him with a quick grab, while Fandral laughed and chirped:

“He is simply too curious. He wishes to see everything.”

“He’ll grow to be a great warrior,” said Volstagg.

“I do sometimes wonder.” Thor bounced him with a sigh. “Loki believes his curiosity stems from the strong _seiðr_ that courses through him; he wishes to train him more in the arts of magic, harnessing his natural abilities, and Father has agreed with him. He has argued that I relied too much on physical prowess, enough that my skills aren’t well rounded.”

“Since when were _you_ a seiðr user?” Fandral teased.

“You’ve seen the lightning, haven’t you?” Volstagg laughed and added: “All of Thor’s line have a natural inclination toward magic, with the Odinforce being a mere part of that, but our Thor – with his stubbornness and ‘smash first’ attitude – simply relies too much upon Mjölnir to control what could be controlled with his will alone. It’s a crutch. One day the Odinforce will be his, then likely Magni’s, and that is why Magni requires some training in magic.”

“Thor did well all this time without such control over his magic,” observed Sif. “I do not recall Loki – for all his tricks and spells – ever once able to best Thor, at least not in a fair fight, so why should Magni receive such a different style of training?”

“True, but think how much better he’d have been _with_ training!”

“You know the stigma of such _seiðr_ as matters stand.”

Thor sat Magni on his lap. He smiled to see how Magni sat for nearly a full minute, without support or help, and yet – as he babbled ‘da’ over and over – he flapped his arms and attempted to reach out to Sif and Hogun with clasping hands. It was true he developed fast for his few months, while he was curious and attentive, and so training in seiðr could help to train his mind as well as his body, but such things were too far away to consider.

He looked again to Loki, only to see a small group congregate around him. Frigga slid Móði into his arms with a gentle laugh, while Odin clapped a hand on his back and introduced him to several nobles from some other realm, and – as Thor watched with interest – Odin caught his eye and his expression hardened. There was a not of acknowledgement, but also something sharp as if in warning, and Thor snapped his head away back to his son. The breeze ruffled Magni’s blond hair, while the sun added some colour to his skin. Sif said:

“You seem distracted, Thor.”

Thor sighed and leaned back; he lifted Magni high above him, while pulling strange faces and laughing as Magni laughed, and – as Sif smiled and reached out with a patient expression – he nodded his consent to Sif and allowed her to take Magni into her arms. Fandral blushed at how natural she appeared, although Magni would still reach for Hogun and chant what sounded like ‘ha’ until it soon became a murmured and prolonged cry, forcing Hogun to stand beside them with a smile so unlike his usual frown. Thor asked:

“Where did Loki get such iced treats?”

“Hmm?” Volstagg blinked and looked across the room. “Ah, those! Well, the Allfather sent us on an errand to Jotunheim. It’s as miserable a place as I remember, but – with the new peace treaties in place – they _were_ a lot more hospitable than last time. In any case, Helblindi gave us large blocks of ice to bring back for Loki. We explained that we have ice in Asgard, but . . . well . . . he insisted that it wasn’t the same and this would be more beneficial.”

“They seem to have a point,” muttered Fandral. “We tested the ice thoroughly; no poison, no dangerous elements. It does seem to hydrate the Jotun form better, however, something to do with its chemical composition, and I haven’t seen Loki without some form of iced drink or treat since he uncovered the ice in the kitchens. It seems to do him well.”

“I’m glad _someone_ has seen Loki, in that case,” muttered Thor.

“You haven’t? Well, that is a surprise!”

Thor looked through the crowds. The music that played was low and classical, a background track to both the joyous and awkward interactions of those who mingled, and soon the laughter merged with small talk and bickering as the guests wandered. He caught odd glances of Loki, who clasped a terrified Móði to his chest, and Móði – barely dressed, unable to endure the warmth – buried his head into Loki’s jacket with visible sobs. A Vanaheim leader clung to Loki’s side, asking question after question while Loki rolled his eyes. Thor said:

“I fear Father seeks to keep us apart.”

He struggled to find Odin and Frigga through the crowd, but occasional glances revealed Odin stayed as close to Loki as etiquette would allow, while constantly introducing him to some attractive or highly-ranked male each time the one before grew bored. Thor clenched his fists and sat upright, as his nostrils flared and his lips pursed into a white line. He said nothing as Volstagg nudged him with an elbow and asked in a warm voice:

“Why would he do that?”

“I do not know,” lied Thor. “I simply know that our schedules now conflict to an extreme extent; our free time has been arranged for different days of the week, while even social events like this have me required to entertain different sets of guests. It seems that even our mealtimes have been set as if in shifts so that when one finishes another begins.”

“That does seem excessive,” observed Sif.

“Aye, I only ever see Loki to exchange the children.” Thor ran a hand over his face. “I do not mind each watching one child at a time, as it leads to more quality time and makes the process far easier, but I also long to spend time with _both_ children, especially with Loki also in the room as we play and laugh and bond. It has been nearly a month on this new schedule, but it leaves us so exhausted that we barely exchange more than a few words.”

“That is impractical as new parents,” admitted Volstagg. “Do you think the Allfather arranged these schedule changes to alleviate the rumours in our realm? If you aren’t seen together, you can’t be accused of being together. We all know that the crime of incest would lead to a political uproar! It may be that he’s being cruel to be kind.”

“Is it not more suspicious to keep us apart? A few stolen conversations does not feel enough, while the time we do spend together only stands out all the more for how unusual it now has become, and I will be honest . . . I miss my brother. He was my greatest friend.”

“What are we? Chopped liver?” Fandral teased.

Thor opened his mouth to speak, but a loud cry silenced any words. It was an all too familiar sound; he looked through the crowds to see Loki apologising profusely, while he bounced Móði in an awkward manner in his arms, and tiny fists pounded against a leather-clad chest. He stood and ran a hand over his face, while he saw how Loki tensed and held Móði slightly at a distance, while Móði reached ever closer for skin-to-skin contact. Thor let out a sigh and turned to place a kiss to Magni’s forehead, while he stood and bowed to his friends.

“Excuse me,” said Thor. “I must tend to Móði.”

He forced his way through the crowd. It was difficult to dodge and avoid so many delegates, while others sought to gain the attention of a prince, and – with many muttered apologies – he soon found himself a few feet from Loki. Loki widened his eyes in relieved surprise, while he gently extended Móði towards him, and Thor reached out with both hands towards his son and his brother with a smile. Móði never did meet his touch.

Odin appeared between them. A servant placed a hand on Loki’s shoulder and swept him away, until he was lost among the guests, and Thor – already making to storm forward – was pushed back by Odin, who took a hold of him by the back of the neck. It was an affectionate gesture, but one that was also firm enough to cause discomfort and forced him to be swung around so that his back was now to Loki and Móði. He made again to turn, only for Odin to clap a hand on his shoulder so hard that he was jerked forward. Odin chirped:

“Thor, my boy! Let me introduce you to Erna.”

A young woman stood before them, draped in a beautiful green gown. He noted her black hair styled into loose curls, with hazel eyes flecked with light blue, and – as he looked over her frame – he noted her tall and lean frame. Thor quirked an eyebrow to Odin and waved casually in acknowledgement of the lady that waited with a half-smirk, but ultimately turned his back to her and looked Odin hard in his working eye, while the woman huffed in indignation and walked away from them. Thor said in a low voice:

“I was hoping to tend to Móði.”

“You need not worry,” said Odin. “Your mother has vast experience with children, enough that – should Loki struggle – she will be able to make all wrongs right. I have been meaning to have words with you about your duties; I believe you will be a _fine_ king, while you have proved yourself more than capable, and thus thought about increasing your duties.”

“Father, I know what you are doing,” whispered Thor. “You are trying to keep Loki and me apart, and I know not why you would do such a thing, especially as Loki has been punished enough and I have proven my worth. I wish for this to stop. Now.”

“Thor, I have no idea what you mean. You must be confused.”

“I am not confused, Father. I know that –”

“ _Ah, Dagur!_ Excuse me, Thor.”

Thor let out a hiss of breath, as Odin mingled with the crowd. A woman pressed against him, even as Thor strove to get away, and commented on the unique symbols etched onto his vambraces, forcing him to admit the design was to honour his brother. He missed her disappointed expression, while he pushed past person after person and cast his eyes around the hall in search of Loki. The scents of perfumes and colognes lingered about him.

He smiled to hear familiar sneezes, but frowned to see Frigga on the sides with Móði. There were no longer loud cries or murmurs, although small hiccups echoed about the hall, and he nuzzled against her breast with a loud yawn, while she pressed a handkerchief containing ice against his bare back. Thor let out a long sigh, as he ran a hand through his hair, but his eyes struggled to make out Loki in the crowd. He listened to odd snippets of gossip . . . _‘which shall be heir’, ‘canapés are terrible’, ‘so handsome for a Jotun’ . . ._ no real information.

Thor was ready to give up, when something tingled against his skin. It was warm almost like a touch. Thor turned to his side and saw Loki gazing absently into the crowd, where he stood with a glass of heavily-iced water in hand, and seemed almost indifferent to their situation. Not one word was uttered, but Thor smiled and turned to look mostly away from Loki, even as his heart raced and his mouth watered. Loki hummed absently and commanded:

“Go alone to your rooms.”

Thor was grateful that he had not a drink in hand. He choked on the air, forced to turn to face Loki, who – with a smirk – looked him over and disappeared from sight with the obvious tremor unique to an illusion, and soon it was like he was never there. Thor licked at his lips and looked about the hall to two distinct places; Magni was fussed by Hogun, while Frigga bounced Móði with expressive movements of her face, and both appeared content. It was enough to bring a smile to his face, as he knew he needed not worry about them.

He quickly darted his way through the crowd.

He knew Loki would not wait.

 


	30. Chapter 30

Thor cried out.

The pain in his lower back radiated out, like a throbbing pressure, while below that – inside and deep within – a tearing pain seared itself into his flesh. He reached behind with a callused hand, touching the seam of skin where they were joined, and he cursed with wet eyes to realise that Loki was only halfway inside, still not yet fully sheathed. Thor pulled back his hand. He saw no blood, but the lubrication glistened on his fingertips.

Thor struggled to retain his arousal; he clutched at the sheets until small rips formed, while he pressed his cheek flat against the pillow and prayed his hair hid his red eyes from sight, and – as Loki paused with heavy gasps – Thor bit into his lip until he tasted blood. The sweat over his body grew uncomfortable. The heat to his limbs struggled to match the cold breeze. He instinctively clenched around Loki, enough to bring a hiss of breath to blue lips, and the subtle flutter of his inner walls caused Loki to push forward another inch. Thor sobbed.

“Wait, Loki,” he gasped. “Please. Enough. Wait.”

Loki paused just enough for Thor to catch his breath. He breathed slow and deep, while he focussed on the feel of smooth thighs pressed to the backs of his legs, while soft hands traced patterns over his back, and he tried to maintain a rapidly flagging erection. Thor moved his hips side to side, desperate to find some comfort, but – with a hiss of breath – Loki rammed fully inside him to the hilt. The pain was intense, although not unbearable. Thor screamed out and tore into the sheets with his hands. Tears fell down his cheeks.

He felt nails rake down his back, drawing blood from open wounds, and – while that may have been erotic during any other sexual session – he found no pleasure and his erection deflated into a flaccid state. Loki swore. Thor clenched and realised the pressure was reduced, as if he were looser or Loki were softer, and he tried to focus on how Loki’s wiry black hair tickled at his buttocks, instead of how the tears blurred his vision. Loki asked in a whisper:

“Are you still in pain?”

“I – I think we did not prepare enough,” admitted Thor. “If you slowly pull out, we can stretch a little more and apply more oils to your length. I – I am okay to continue, but I think we went too fast . . . the sting is more than I can bear. I am sorry, Loki.”

“So you are in pain. You get no pleasure from this act.”

“I relished everything until the penetration.”

Thor lifted his head and looked behind him. The tears and sweat stung his eyes, ironically bringing forth more tears and sweat, and all he could make out was a blurred blue figure behind him with hands lightly placed on his hips. Thor licked at his lips, desperately to wet them as they grew so dry, but soon collapsed back against the sheets unable to support his weight any longer. He was unsure how he would walk the following day, and winced to understand firsthand why Loki had walked with a limp so many months ago.

“I am soft,” muttered Loki.

Loki massaged at Thor’s lower back, kneading the tense muscles with great expertise, and waited until Thor was finally relaxed before he pulled out, only to move so slowly that it was if he thought Thor might break under the strain. Each inch brought simultaneous pain and relief. It left him feeling emptier and emptier, but each pull scraped against his internal walls and brought a fresh sting that brought hisses from his lips. It was nearly a minute until Loki finally pulled out, only to gently guide Thor to roll over onto his back.

Thor swore as his buttocks pressed against firm mattress. Loki let a sharp exhale of breath from his nose, before sacrificing one of his pillows to place under Thor’s lower back, and – with a cold hand – poured a cool cream over his digit and inserted it inside Thor. The coldness was uncomfortable, but the cream was a worthy investment as it instantly numbed the pain and allowed Thor to melt into the sheets with slack muscles. Thor murmured:

“You came so soon? I do not feel wet.”

“No, I am just . . . soft.”

There was another long sigh of breath, before Loki collapse beside him. The mattress dipped, while the scent of sex and sweat lingered in the air, and – with a few kicks – Loki brought the furs up from the foot of the bed and draped them over Thor. He tucked them around Thor, enough that it brought a smile to Thor’s lips despite their awkward situation. They were soft and moved like satin against his skin, with the bristles of fur an oddly comforting sensation, enough that he almost forgot Loki’s loss of arousal. He frowned and observed:

“My pain turned you off.”

“I did not think that it would,” admitted Loki. “I saw you in pain and for a moment -? I wanted to hurt you. I wanted you to suffer. I wanted you to feel as _I_ felt. It was an emotion ugly and beneath me, enough to limit my arousal, and then I saw your pain in earnest . . . I cannot do that to you, Thor. I cannot be your rapist after all that has happened.”

“I consented, Loki. I wanted this.” Thor ran a hand over his face with a sigh. “You did not know that I was not properly stretched, and I would not have consented had I thought myself ill-prepared. We simply know next time to try when better equipped.”

“Do you want to continue after this?”

“I want it more than anything, but I also want for you to feel safe. Are we going too fast? I know that you were a virgin, Loki, as such . . . while I am _honoured_ to be the first person that you have taken . . . it is a large pressure to endure. It forces you to redefine yourself and reassess your relationship with sexual acts. If you need time, I will give you as long as you need. We were perfectly sated without such penetration, were we not?”

Loki merely hummed in a non-committal manner. Thor said nothing, simply giving Loki time to process his emotions, but – to his surprise – an arm draped itself over him and Loki nuzzled close, burying his head into the crook of Thor’s neck. The skin-on-skin intimacy brought a smile to Thor’s lips, as he placed kiss after kiss to those long locks of hair, while he enjoyed how Loki’s long fingers played against his collarbone with gentle touches. It was easy to almost fall into a slumber, as he felt so safe in those toned arms.

“I have grown to love you,” whispered Loki. “I know you mock me for my silver tongue, but you would mock me more to know how it turns to lead at such topics. I wanted to give you something no other has laid claim; you have never been taken, while I have never taken another, and so I thought this a way to . . . share in our mutual affection. I simply do not understand! I had no such issues with you bringing me forth pleasure all this time . . .”

“Aye, but you never could bring yourself to give,” added Thor. “I am more than happy with what you can do with your hand, although I suspect a lifetime of practise has led to such perfection.” Thor laughed Loki glared. “Still, other acts require you to . . . take . . . I wonder whether this reminds you too much of our rape. Could it be trauma?”

“Ah, we are having _that_ discussion, are we?”

“Well, I know it is only a _little_ problem, as we can –”

Thor flinched as Loki struck him hard on his chest. The slap was hard and open-palmed, while hard enough to leave a red mark on his pale chest, and – as his chest muscles rippled – Loki let out a hiss of breath and moved to sit astride him. Thor looked down to the limp member that was only separated from him by the furs between them, and he licked his lips at memory of how it sweet the come tasted and how it filled his mouth, but his developing erection was almost decimated by the cold glare Loki sent in his direction.

“Do not _look_ to me and call it a ‘little’ problem!”

“That is not what I meant.” Thor laughed. “I simply meant that I am sated enough, so I do not want for anything, and as far as our physical relationship goes -? Nothing is lacking. That being said, what you have in length is missing in girth, so perhaps ‘little’ is –”

Loki struck him once again. Thor roared with laughter, while Loki pouted and hissed in frustration, and – as tears sprung to his eyes – Loki threw himself down beside Thor and curled up under the furs, until he was able to entwine their legs and clasp their hands on Thor’s chest so that the beating of his heart was felt through his flesh. The music from the party could just about be made out through the walls, while Thor hummed along.

He looked to the boys’ empty cot, only to realise that they were on borrowed time. It would only be another hour before someone noticed _both_ missing, as well as for the length of time, and servants would be sent to their rooms. Even should Loki hide, it would be suspicious for Thor to be naked in bed so early in the afternoon. Loki placed kissed and suckled at his neck, until Thor yelped in pain to feel teeth buried into his skin, and silently cursed as Loki licked at the nearly formed love-bite. He nearly missed as Loki mumbled into the bruise:

“People judge the receptive partner.”

Thor winced, both from the cold realisation and mild pain. He let Loki lick at the wound like a puppy seeking attention, while he buried his free hand into black hair and stroked at his head with a gentle touch, and together they lay in silence and listened to the various tunes that echoed their way into Thor’s rooms. Loki soon grew warm, enough that he fussed under the covers, and Thor gently slid them away from his side of the bed, while he looked absently towards the windows at the sky beyond. The realm was large. Their people diverse.

“No one needs know what we do,” assured Thor.

“Aye, but I would know,” confessed Loki. “I also cannot bear any physical penetration after what occurred, as it brings back too many unpleasant memories, and then . . . I tense. It becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy, as my fear then brings pain, and while I am sure you could distract me enough to rid me of such pain -? I do not wish to be an _ergi_.”

“May I confess to you, Loki?” Thor blushed and closed his eyes. “I greatly enjoy physical penetration; I have many a toy, although far slimmer than yourself, which has brought me great pleasure and to which I made great use. I see no shame in receiving.”

“Great, then _you_ shall be the one to receive.”

“Yes, but will _you_ think any less of me to have received?” Thor opened his eyes. “I hoped that we would experiment together, to understand which roles we prefer, and that we would both get to enjoy many pleasures in many forms. I know that our realms treat those who receive to be less than women or slaves, but I do not wish to submit to one that would believe such slanders and untruths. Am I less of a man to have accepted you?”

The silence was an uncomfortable one. Loki remained relaxed in his hold, with their hands still clasped between them, but they also both noted a knock from the hallway that seemed to emanate from Loki’s doors. They tensed. It took a long few seconds for the tension to pass, but soon footsteps echoed away and Thor caught the sound of Fandral’s muttered complaints and Sif’s uneasy speculations, before the silence returned. Thor let out a long sigh of breath, while Loki nuzzled into him and kissed at his bite-mark, before Loki admitted:

“Nothing can make you any lesser.”

“But this will make you lesser?”

“You are not a _Jotun_ , Thor,” whispered Loki. “You were also not the one to be penetrated during our rape. You also do not have to constantly prove your worth as a _seiðr_ user! I was before the trickster and the lie-smith, but now I am the Jotun who has bore forth an heir to a prince that is also his _brother_ , leading to scandals and rumours abound. It is difficult.”

“Talk to me,” said Thor. “Tell me what scares you.”

“I struggle to reclaim my sexuality after the rape. I fear that any time I receive such pleasure that I am somehow . . . justifying what happened. It is difficult to put into words, but – while your oral abilities have never ceased to amaze me – I have kept control with my hands in your hair and my eyes on your movements. To be penetrated requires great trust and vulnerability, and also . . . is it right to enjoy what once was so traumatic?

“That is not to mention if we were caught! If I were to take you, I would endure no stigma or judgement, aside from that of it being an incestuous act, but if the tables were reversed -? I am treated as an exotic object or a worthless creature as things stand, so I can only imagine the shame and disgust should they think I receive, and . . . well . . . you are also . . .”

“Extremely well-endowed?”

“And _oh_ so modest.”

Loki smirked, as he lightly tapped at Thor’s chest. They remained in relative silence, while Thor chuckled and struggled to refrain from further kisses, and – as they lay quietly entwined – a loud high-pitched cry echoed from the hallways, while loud complaints and muttered curses merged alongside into a cacophony of noise. Thor swore and ran a hand over his face, as he listened to Móði weep for attention from one of his parents. A knock sounded on Thor’s door, enough to echo about the bedroom and bring a hushed curse to his lips.

He knew his doors were locked. Loki’s would also be locked. They watched as the handles rattled and whomever held Móði gave up, before they walked away and Thor sighed. He detangled himself from Loki’s limbs, as he swung his legs over the side of the bed and cricked his neck, and quickly snatched at various articles of clothing from the floor, while he looked to Loki and saw he made no sign of movement. Thor asked:

“Can we keep this secret for long?”

There was a hiss of breath from Loki, as he rolled onto his back and stretched out. It was a deeply erotic pose, enough that Thor swallowed hard and forced the palm of his hand against his erection, before he shook his head with a curse and quickly dressed. He only prayed no one waited at the end of the hallway, lest they see him leave his rooms and realise he was there all along, and he ripped Loki’s shirt from the floor only to throw it at him. Loki huffed in indignation, as he flung it back onto the floor with a curled him and spat:

“We have no choice.”

“There will come a point when we can hide it no longer.” Thor donned the last of his armour. “What of the day we forget to lock a door? What of the day where forget to leaves bites only where they cannot be seen? What of the day when you could fall pregnant again? Let us do what we can to keep this secret, Loki, but do not forget that one day we must come forward.”

“I live with that knowledge every day, Thor. I also recognise that the day this _does_ come forward shall likely be the day this ends. Do you think that Father shall allow an incestuous union? Already, he strives to keep us apart. I . . . I do not want us to be separated.”

“We shall never be separated. I swear to you, Loki.”

“Do not make promises you cannot keep.”

Thor looked away to the cot beside the bed. He saw the blankets piled on Magni’s side, as well as the cuddly toy on Móði’s side, and he smiled at how different the twins could act and feel and think, even as they shared the same upbringing and same share of love. The clothes strewn about the room spoke volumes of the union between Thor and Loki, and he winced to think how their parents would perceive a sexual union between their twins, especially as it was impossible to imagine ever condoning such a union between his own.

He adjusted his cape and his collar, making sure Loki’s bite was hidden, and yet he knew that would not be the tell that would give them away, but instead the ache to his behind that made walking a chore. Thor smiled absently to himself; the bowl of oil still sat on the bedside table, while the various creams lay discarded on the floor, and through it all Loki lay ever indifferent on the bed, naked as the day he was born and with a dangerous smirk.

“I love you,” whispered Thor. “I love you, Loki.”

Loki hummed, as he rested his head on clasped hands. He looked out to Thor through fallen locks of hair, while he arched his back to emphasise his taut buttocks, and – with a blush that darkened his blue skin – licked at his lips and narrowed his eyes. Thor swore and struggled to fight away his arousal, while he pressed down the door-handle and paused unable to bring himself to open the door the rest of the way, but he knew the guilt would consume him to ignore Móði for much longer. It was only when the door opened that he caught the words:

“I love you, too.”

Thor struggled to hold back the tears.


	31. Chapter 31

“This must stop.”

Odin slammed the doors shut. The sound echoed about the bedroom, enough to pierce his eardrums and bring an iota of pain, while the papers – scattered about the desk, ink still wet on their folds – rustled with the sudden breeze. The room itself was nothing unusual; Thor’s possessions were strewn about in their usual mess, while the only item of Loki’s was a borrowed book on the unmade bed, and yet the scent of sweat was heavy in the air.

Thor jumped from the sofa. There was a flush to his cheeks, while his lips were swollen red and his hair was mussed on the sides, and – as he rubbed at his mouth – Odin narrowed his eyes and flared his nostrils to see a hint of moisture. He clenched his hands. The sofa was purposely turned to face the balcony, so that the back was to the door, and the surprise redecoration only added further to the racing of his heart. Dots and shapes blurred his vision, as he saw the back of Loki’s head and noticed some hurried movements made out of sight.

He said nothing as Thor hastily ran about the room, tidying as he went with muttered complaints, and yet looked instead to Loki who slowly stood and brushed at his green-and-black coat, picking at seemingly imaginary pieces of lint. Loki soon turned around with a quirk of his eyebrow, but Odin noticed the sweat to his forehead and how his breath was quickened and shallow. Thor sighed as he smoothed out his sheets and murmured:

“I do not know what you mean.”

“Aye, _you do_ ,” spat Odin.

Odin marched further into the room. He sat opposite the sofa and sat on the armchair, while he signalled for Loki to sit and gestured for Thor to rejoin them, and – with a raised eyebrow – noticed that Thor sat at the far end of the sofa, as if he were making a point of sitting as far away from Loki as possible. Odin looked him over, with a hiss of breath. Thor was dressed in casual wear, with no sign of his armour or protective attire, while his eyes were cast on an empty spot on the floor. He would not directly look at either Loki or Odin.

“Tell me,” said Odin. “Are you in love with Loki?”

“Loki is my brother, of course I love him!”

“That is not what I asked.” Odin raised his head high. “I see those indentations on your cheek, Thor. The pattern is unique, is it not? It looks like what one would find on Jotun skin, although the markings do not match those visible on Loki’s head or hands. Is that a sweat upon his brow? Is that a darkening to his cheeks? You must know how this looks.”

“You would accuse me of something as heinous as incest?”

“You do not deny those same inferences.”

Thor curled his lip and looked to Loki. Loki made no sign of acknowledgement, but kept his gaze locked on Odin and expressed no reaction to the accusations, while Thor – with a scoff and a shake of his head – stood and paced back-and-forth in the seating area. The silence was awkward, broken only by the rustle of Thor’s clothing as he walked, but every so often snippets of cries could be heard in the adjacent room, while Frigga sang to Magni.

Odin struggled to repress his rage; his heart raced loud in his chest, while his muscles tensed and his body ached, and yet that same rage was not reflected in Thor, even as he gesticulated wildly and kicked at the ground and snarled like a child. No. The rage was instead reflected in Loki, who locked eyes with him and half-smiled in a way that did not quite reach his eyes, and Odin could only sit straight, as he resisted the urge to lean into Loki’s space. Loki, however, did not have such restraint. Loki leaned towards him as Odin commanded:

“This stops now.”

A loud scoff emitted from Thor’s lips, as he threw himself back onto the sofa. The wood creaked beneath, while he threw his hands over his face and let out a hiss of breath, and – when he looked back to Odin – there was an expression with a mixture of fear and frustration, as if both offended and afraid to be caught. Odin hardened his expression and looked to Loki, who sat with legs apart and arms rested on his knees. Loki said in a cold voice:

“Your suspicions are unfounded.”

“Aye?” Odin asked. “Can you explain away all suspicions?”

“I do not need to explain them.” Loki smirked and shrugged his shoulders. “You simply need to provide proof. Surely, you would not destroy our family over such paranoia? I can be certain that you have never seen us kiss or embrace or make love, because those are such things that have never occurred. We are not _that_ barbaric. Did you not love Fárbauti?”

“I loved her dearly, but as a brother should. Do you really claim such innocence? I see how your touches linger. I see how you seek each other out. I see how you both hide together. It is fast becoming an open secret, one that – once exposed – will make protecting you impossible.”

“I now need protection? I was not aware the innocent were to be punished.”

“Loki is not at fault,” muttered Thor. “He has done nothing.”

“Oh,” Odin said. “Then _you_ have done something?”

Thor paled and looked away. He was never one to lie well, at least not to Odin, and it spoke volumes that the few lines about his face deepened with the intensity of his concentration, while he clenched his fists and let out a slow breath. Loki – to the contrary – rolled his eyes and spread his arms out on the back of the sofa, as he reclined back and rested one leg on his knee, with his gaze ever locked on Odin. The confidence that oozed from him masked a deeper fear, visible in how he strove so hard to hold his facade. Odin continued:

“Do you realise what will happen should this come to light?”

The silence spoke more than words. Loki glanced across the room to the cot; it was a quick movement of his eyes, before they snapped back onto Odin, but the glance was noticeable and clearly spoke of his priorities. Odin closed his eye and listened to the faint sound of Magni’s muffled cries, where the young babe yearned for one of the parents that he was so rarely separated, and he opened his eyes to see that Loki lost a great deal of colour. Loki spat:

“There is nothing _to_ come to light.”

“It will be impossible to hide the fact that Loki is more than a surrogate,” explained Odin. “The realm will know that you engaged in intercourse. It will leave a kingdom divided! I will be forced to take measures, which shall start with publicly disowning Loki and returning all familial rights to Helblindi. We would risk losing Loki entirely.”

“You are threatening me?” Loki asked. “Do you really think Helblindi would lock me away or marry me off to the highest bidder? If you truly think there is something untoward at play, surely disowning me would make it easier for us to be an item? A little self-defeatist.”

“My intent is not to keep you apart, but to keep from losing my son!”

Odin slammed a fist onto the cushion. The muffled sound was loud enough for Loki to flinch back, as he opened his red eyes wide and parted his lips with a silenced sound, and – as Thor looked between the two of them – Odin drew in a shuddered breath and opened his hand. It trembled almost in time to his racing heart, while his mouth ran dry and his eyes grew wet, and yet he slowly composed himself and rested his hands on his lap. Thor angled his body toward Loki, moving his legs so that knees now touched. Loki said in a low voice:

“You have no proof.”

“Yet,” said Odin.

“We know what is at risk,” whispered Thor. “We know that incest is more than a mere taboo, but a crime beyond all other crimes. Do you think we would risk what we have? Do you think we would act as such a bad influence to Móði and Magni? We are better than that. I would give my life for Loki, but that does not automatically mean we must be sleeping together!”

“I am sure.” Odin narrowed his gaze. “My greatest concern is that Loki must be disowned, in order to prevent either of you from arrest or exile, and in that case . . . I lose a son that I have come to love almost as an extension of myself. I fear he shall also lay blame at my door for his disownment. It will not be an act easily committed, nor shall it be ‘proof’ of my supposed lack of love, and yet will it not be seen that way by one so self-loathing as Loki?

“That is not to mention the case where we retain familial rights. Do you not wonder what shall happen if Loki is not disowned? If you are to avoid imprisonment, you would need to be exiled, but – alas – Asgard _must_ have an heir and Fárbauti’s line cannot inherit due to their Jotun blood. Býleistr would not be considered a worthy candidate.”

“Are you threatening to take our sons?” Thor asked.

“No,” said Odin. “Only _one_ would be needed to secure our realm. It is not a decision I would take as your father, but as a king that needs to be assured his people shall be protected, and – without such security – we risk both war with Jotunheim and civil war at home. This is why you must consider your actions with the weight that they deserve. Think upon this.”

Odin stood slowly and winced. The ache to his joints was more pronounced, as a sharp jolt of pain echoed through every nerve, and it was clear that his years were numbered in the single digits, as he closed his eyes and fought back a light-headed spell. It was warm in Thor’s rooms, unusual when Móði so preferred the cold, and it brought a sweat to his skin beneath his armour, even as he reopened his eyes to glance between Loki and Thor.

Thor wore an expression that was difficult to lay witness. It contorted his face and his mouth was opened into an outright snarl, as he buried his hands into his hair and threw himself back against the sofa, and Loki – lips pressed into a pale line – glared at Odin with half-narrowed eyes and a furrowed brow. Odin strove to keep an impassive reaction, even as his heart raced and his hands shook, but he simply walked away with the grace befitting a monarch. He stopped only when he reached the doors, as Thor’s broken voice echoed out:

“What if Loki is disowned?”

It was all the admission that Odin needed. He lowered his head to silently curse, before he turned with head high and back straight. Loki paced as he cast various looks of contempt in Thor’s direction, while Thor – with eyes watering and teeth digging into his lips – turned around to hug the back of the sofa. He locked eyes with Odin, refusing to look away, as if silently pleading for some alternative. Odin rested his hand on the door-handle, while he tried to ignore the tension in Thor’s body as he gripped the cushions. Odin asked:

“I thought your relationship innocent?”

“Hypothetically,” said Thor.

“It would put Loki at great risk.” Odin sighed. “We need not fear about Laufey, but – equally – we do not know yet what kind of ruler Helblindi will prove to become. The relationship between our realms has been better than ever, but that does not guarantee he would treat Loki with respect and kindness, and there is every chance he could use Loki as a political pawn or as a means to extort more power from our realm. He would be Loki’s king and brother.”

“That means he could refuse to allow us to marry,” snarled Loki. “It would also mean our children would be bastards, so that any other children you bear – so long as they are with an Asgardian – would take priority over Móði and Magni. If he chooses not to marry in turn, he could ask that Móði be returned to me that Móði may serve as his heir.”

“Why would he not marry?”

“There are . . . rumours,” muttered Loki. “Jotunheim has no such stigma against bastards, but the children must belong by blood. Móði and Magni may be of Laufey’s blood, but only Móði has a Jotun form. Legally, Asgard would have an heir in Magni and Jotunheim an heir in Móði, preventing civil war and all potential issues between our kingdoms.”

“Aye,” added Odin. “It is possible Helblindi would choose that option regardless of personal opinion, simply – assuming he has any political prowess – it is the easiest options for all involved and would not cause bad blood between our people. Loki would be with his son, exiled to Jotunheim where Móði would be heir, and you would be expected to remain on Asgard, where Magni would serve as heir after yourself. It is the most likely option.”

Thor jumped to his feet. He looked between Loki and Odin with a curled lip, as he clenched his fists and pointed an accusatory finger in Odin’s direction, but – as he controlled his anger with a deep and loud breath – he lowered his hands and cast a nervous smile. Thor stepped around the sofa and stumbled towards Odin; he stopped midway across the lounge area, where he tripped over a blue blanket that belonged to Magni, and it was enough to force him to squash down the rising panic. Thor snatched up the blanket and breathlessly asked:

“Would he not allow Loki and me to marry?”

Loki scoffed, while Thor wrung the blanket in his hands. The embroidered pattern folded under creases, so that the shapes became distorted and unrecognisable, and yet – as Thor raised it to his face – the scent appeared to calm him enough to stand still with a loud sigh, before he tossed it onto a nearby rocking-chair. It was intended for nursing, but used by both parents in order for the children to sleep with ease. Loki ran a hand over his face.

“No, he would not,” said Loki.

“Why? For what reason?”

“I could perhaps broker a deal, in the worst case scenario, but – from a political standpoint – Helblindi would lose leverage against Asgard. The solution Father employed would cast both realms as _equals_ , but to allow us to marry -? He would lose an heir, forcing him to then provide one as Býleistr certainly shall not. Great sacrifices would need to be made.”

“It is possible he could ask for the Casket in return for Loki’s hand,” added Odin. “Again, I ask you to consider your options before you act further. I shall assume this to be nothing more than flirtations and a practising of your . . . _silver tongue_. If that is the case –”

“Rest assured, _that_ is enough to make my silver tongue turn to lead.”

“I care not who services who! I care that this goes no further,” chided Odin. “I do not wish to imprison you, my sons, or cast you both into exile over such acts, especially as it would mean separating Magni from Móði. I also do not wish to disown you, Loki, as it shall only lead to Loki and Móði being taken from us and cast forth to Jotunheim. Let us return to being a family. Let us have no more of these unnatural acts. Stop now, before it is too late.”

Odin opened the door. The cool air struck him, allowing him a momentary breath and a chance to calm his senses, and – a little further down – he listened as Frigga sang an old tune to Magni once sang to Thor and Loki. He wanted to smile, but his lips twitched and pressed into a firm line, as he clenched his hand so hard on the handle that it stung his skin and bruised his flesh. Odin looked over his shoulder to see how Loki was already by Thor’s side and how Thor’s hand clasped at his neck. Odin lowered his head and warned in a low voice:

“Think on matters, my boys.”

 


	32. Chapter 32

Loki was beautiful.

He sat astride Thor with head thrown back, so growing locks fell about his upper back, and that long column of neck – visibly swallowing back his cries – sat exposed and covered with a thin layer of sweat. The blue of his skin darkened about his chest and cheeks, while he moved with such speed that his long member bobbed against his stomach. A smear of pre-come shimmered on his stomach. He mewled as Thor thrust inside him.

Thor slid his hand along the inside of Loki’s thigh; the skin was warmer than usual, but cool and comforting like the other side of his pillow on a hot night, and he licked breathlessly at his lips as he traced the raised patterns on his flesh with a light touch. Loki shivered around him. The inner walls clenched around Thor’s member, forcing him to contort his face and drop his head back onto the pillows, while his heart pounded so hard in his chest that it echoed in his ears. Thor gazed at Loki with half-lidded eyes. He wanted more.

He worked his hand further up. Thor flicked his thumb against Loki’s nipple, causing him to arch his back and draw in a deep hiss of breath, and – as he flicked and pulled and stroked circles – he struggled to fight back the encroaching orgasm. The pleasure was intense. It tore at his every nerve; every inch of skin came alive, as he struggled to sit upright and leaned towards Loki’s untouched nipple in an attempt to suckle and bite and lick.

“You _swore_ I would remain in control,” chastised Loki.

A hand pushed him forcefully back against the mattress. It knocked the breath out of Thor, but to look up and see Loki – half-bent over him, hand pressed to his chest – was perhaps the most erotic sight ever witnessed. The fingers were splayed about his pectoral muscle, while Loki’s face contorted and strange murmurs and moans came forth from parted lips, and a small strand of drool ran out in a way that was actually perfect, beyond anything he could ever have imagined. Thor growled and reached out for Loki’s member.

Another hand slapped his away. Loki hissed out in frustration. Thor opened his mouth to argue, only to feel both hands dragged high above his head and pinned into place, while Loki gripped both wrists in one firm hold. The nails of his hand dug into Thor’s skin; he fisted his hands and arched his back, as a few drops of blood dripped onto the pillow, and writhed to feel a heavenly mixture of pleasure and pain, while Loki bit at his neck and whispered:

“Thor, I would like to retain my arousal this time.”

Thor opened his mouth to complain, only to find lips pressed against him. The kiss was long and passionate, so much that – as Loki threw back his head – Thor was left gasping for breath while struggling to get free his hands. He stilled when Loki left a love-bite to his chest, catching his areola in the process, and the increasing sense of pleasure left his muscles tensing and toes curling with a desire to fight for release. The pain was sharp enough to push back his desire to finally come, but just light enough to keep him close.

“If – I-If you’re –!” Thor groaned. “If you are –”

“I want this, Thor,” gasped Loki. “I want you. I am properly prepared, just as I am emotionally ready, and – and I – _oh fuck, Thor_ – I – I only ask that you let me retain complete control, as old fears still linger. Let us work through them _another_ time, y-yes?”

Thor opened his mouth to object, but Loki descended once more. He kissed long and hard, dominating Thor with tongue buried deep into his mouth, and – as Loki hissed to taste his own come – Thor chuckled and responded in earnest, enjoying the taste of honey and grapes and something indefinable. Those lips were soft and swollen, although occasionally the click of teeth broke the mood and brought giggles from both, along with a muttered ‘ouch’ when Loki bit too hard into his tongue. Loki pulled back with a nervous laugh and asked:

“That was hardly sexy, was it?”

The words were barely more than a whisper. Loki pulled back enough to be just out of reach, while keeping a firm hold on Thor’s wrists, and his free hand – anxious for something to occupy it – tweaked and pulled at his nipple much as Thor had done to him. It was almost painful to be kept to close to the edge, especially as those inner walls fluttered more and more and Loki’s pants increased about him. Thor thrust up with a mischievous grin.

“It was _incredibly_ sexy,” swore Thor. “It was _real_.”

“Then allow me to make it sexier.”

“Is that possible?”

Loki smirked and let go of his wrists. Thor kept his hands obediently in place, although he gripped at the pillow to prevent the temptation to explore Loki’s body, and he simply watched as Loki slowly moved his hips rhythmically to grind down against Thor, without truly lifting his hips or thrusting at all. The friction was intense and better than any sex he could recall with any woman, and yet – as his eyes grew unfocused – he saw Loki slowly slide a hand down his chest towards his erection, which he gripped with a heavy gasp.

“Oh,” said Thor. “Oh wow.”

He scrunched closed his eyes to fight back a sudden orgasm, catching his breath just enough to find the strength to reopen his eyes, and – crying out in pained pleasure – he watched as Loki worked at his nipple with one hand and jerked his length with his other. Loki threw back his head once more, while he moaned and gasped and choked on his saliva, as his breathing grew more and more erratic and his grinding motions increased in speed.

The pleasure was unbearable. It coursed through every nerve and burned his skin. Thor let out moan after moan, each one growing louder until he was screaming through the sensations, and the pounding of his pulse was so loud he feared his heart might stop. The veins on his muscles bulged, as he thrust ever harder up into Loki, and a heavy sweat soon broke over every inch of skin, until the heat and pleasure and emotion collided with the sight of Loki pulling at his perfect length as pre-come streamed visibly from the tip. Thor cried out:

“I – I’m coming, Loki. I’m coming!”

Thor roared out his orgasm. He ripped a hole in the pillow, as feathers rained down in the air around them, and he jerked uncontrollably under Loki, while ropes of come spurted inside those impossibly tight walls. The pleasure was so intense that he blacked out, coming around only to the most amazing afterglow of his entire life. Every muscle grew comfortably numb and limp, while he licked at his lips and gasped out a contented laugh.

“T-Thor,” gasped Loki

Loki silently came in turn. Thor smiled to see him come so undone; his mouth was contorted in a way that should have been unattractive, but instead made him look so primal . . . so raw . . . so _passionate_. The veins in his neck bulged, while come dribbled out onto Thor’s stomach and ran down his sides in white rivulets. Loki’s eyes rolled back until no pupils could be seen, while sweat glued his hair to his head . . . such ecstasy . . .

It hurt to have Loki clench so hard around his now soft member, enough that he cursed and threw his hands out to grip on Loki’s hips, and Loki – so totally spent – appeared to no longer care about the ground rules. He collapsed onto Thor, knocking the breath from him. Thor let out a huff of breath, as he wrapped his arms around Loki and laughed through a closed mouth, while Loki buried his head into the crook of Thor’s neck. The member still inside Loki slowly slid out by an inch, but otherwise remained lodged inside with come leaking out.

“Loki, does it hurt? Are you feeling any –?”

The doors swung open wide.

Thor cursed as the sudden blast of light blinded him. He threw a hand over his eyes, as the overhead lights flashed into life and the doors slammed shut, and – as the loud blast of noise pierced his eardrums – Loki let out a loud gasp of breath. Panic overwhelmed Thor. He barely processed as the familiar tingle of magic washed over him, leaving both men with the illusion of full attire, but he did notice as his heart pounded loud in his ears, while his stomach churned with an agonising ache that brought bile to the back of his mouth.

Loki flung himself from the bed, stumbling due to the severe ache. Loki threw a pair of trousers at Thor, hitting him in the face as he fought to adjust his eyes, and – wrenching them down and over his legs – he hyperventilated and blinked away unshed tears. He struggled to do up the zipper, while the acid burned at his throat and caused him to choke. Loki was mostly dressed when he threw a washcloth to Thor to wipe away at his stomach.

Finally covered, the illusion was removed. Thor flung his legs onto the floor and stood, while Loki half-cowered between the head of the bed and a lattice wall, and – with hands lifted in mock surrender – Thor stumbled forward towards the doors. He was left vulnerable bare-chested and barefooted, while his hands trembled and a terrible ache pounded in his temples, and he finally was able to see . . . finally able to focus . . . Odin dominated the doorway. Red-faced and hands clenched into fists, he looked the epitome of pure rage.

“F-Father, we can explain,” swore Thor.

He took a step forward. Odin remained fixed in place, as his good eye glowered at Thor with such intensity that he could never recall, and his lips were pursed into a pure white line, adding to the wrinkles of age to make him ancient beyond his years. Thor chanced a glance to Loki behind him, only to see how tears streamed down blue cheeks. Loki looked terrified. He widened his eyes to Thor, mouth partially open and gasps breaking from his lips, and pressed his body into the corner with such force that Thor feared for him.

“What have you done?” Odin asked.

The tone was cold. The voice was low. Thor struggled to find words, as he gnawed and licked at his lips, but Odin took his silence to be nothing more than admission, which brought forth a growl so low and primal that it resounded like a war-cry. Odin raised a hand and pointed at Thor. The finger trembled. Odin curled his lip and bounced his fist on the air, as he lowered his head so that dark shadows were cast over a lined face. He screamed with red face:

“ _What have you done to our family?_ ”

Spit flew from his mouth, as his face contorted into an ugly mess. Odin stormed forward, marching with heavy and aggressive swings of his limbs, until Thor was forced to stumble back with arms outstretched to keep Odin away from him. He fell several times. He struggled to regain footing, while Odin advanced ever closer and closer, and soon – with a few muttered complaints – his legs struck against the bed. Thor crashed against the mattress.

The sheets still smelled like sex and sweat. Thor paled – vulnerable and exposed – as he locked eyes with Odin who stood above him, so close to the edge of the bed that the mattress dipped to the side with the pressure of his lower legs. Odin raised a closed fist high, ready to back-hand Thor and cause irrevocable pain, but – as Thor winced and raised an arm in defence – Odin lowered his hand and stepped back. It was a long few seconds before Thor let out the breath he held, as well as collapsed back with sheer relief. He muttered:

“Father, we did not think –”

“No, you did not think!” Odin wrung his hands. “A servant saw you cavorting in the gardens! The guards heard you in your sexual escapades! _Is this what you call secrecy and subtlety?_ Your sons are but six-months old. Do you know where they are now? Do you care? The so-called baby-sitter that you left them with has left them with your mother. A family emergency on Fandral’s part, but he was unable to find you. Why was that, I wonder? Why?”

“We – We did not think anyone suspicious,” murmured Thor. “We listened to your warnings! It has been two months and did you ever once suspect? We did all that we could to keep this secret. If you think that I would ever put Loki at risk -?” Thor screwed shut his eyes. “I swore that I would do all that I could to protect Loki, and I have done –”

“Nothing. You have done _nothing_ to protect him!”

“That is not true,” interrupted Loki.

Loki stood tall and glared toward Odin. The hair – now long and natural in state – stroked at his neck in loose curls, while his red eyes shone underneath the curtain of locks, and he looked both truly intimidating and equally fragile. Loki pulled high the collar of his gown; Thor blushed to realise so many bruises stood out on his bare flesh, enough that he instinctively touched on the freshest creation on his neck, and Thor envied Loki for his ability to hide beneath extra fabrics. Loki curled his lip and spat out to Odin:

“Do you think I played no part in this affair?”

Odin gazed at Loki. He grew silent. The silence was worse than any insults or threats, enough that Thor slowly sat upright and tensed every muscle in his body, and he clenched his hands even as fear and rage competed in his chest. Odin snarled in Loki’s direction and turned his body to block Loki from sight, but – even as he sought to hide – Thor caught sight of the way his eyes shimmered with tears and his cheeks darkened. Odin commanded:

“Do not say a word to me, Loki.”

“Why not?” Loki asked. “So you can lay the blame at Thor’s door?”

“Very well, why do you not tell me your part?” Odin jabbed a finger in his direction. “Did you seduce him? Entice him? Bewitch him? Aye, we have such a witch in our dungeons now! Ah, but perhaps you have forgotten the one that murdered Haldor. Did you enjoy the act of incest? Did you enjoy being made an _ergi_ by your brother? Is this what you wanted?”

“You pay Loki disrespect,” spat Thor.

“No, he disrespects himself by risking _everything_ for a lustful liaison! The servants and guards are spreading these rumours as we speak, so much so that even having flogged and dismissed the first idle tongues has not stifled the spread! It will only be time before our people demand justice be served. Am I to imprison you? No, that would break your Mother’s heart. Am I to exile you? I would need an heir and Magni would become mine.

“Asgard without an heir would only bring war. Jotunheim would take advantage of a crownless throne, while our people would argue and war over who would be legitimate to rule, and all of this because you thought with your loins and not your heads! No, I cannot exile, not when it would mean separating Magni from both parents. I will not.”

“What option does that leave?” Thor begged. “What else?”

“Disownment,” whispered Loki.

The words fell heavy in the air. Loki slid down the wall to the floor, where he winced at the pain as hard wood struck bruised behind, and yet he said not one word as he gazed emptily with glassy eyes at an unfixed spot. The silence that fell exaggerated every last sound, such as the pounding of his pulse and the audible swallows at his throat, until Thor grew dizzy and overwhelmed by the realisation that their world was turned upside-down. He winced as the cold air brushed over bare skin, catching at his sweat and bringing goosebumps.

Odin curled his lip and turned his back on them. It brought back memories of their childhood, when Odin would be curled over a desk heavy at work or talking to some diplomat or other, and how they always felt on the outside of some adult world, but now . . . they were standing outside of a family to which they once belonged. Thor turned his eyes to the two cots not far from the bed, where their sons would later be returned. Odin said in a cold voice:

“I will make a public announcement tonight.”

The world shattered around Thor. He could picture the remarks of others . . . _‘they’re brothers’, ‘the royal family capable of such incest’, ‘can’t trust such a degenerate to rule’_. . . worst were the cold sweats as he watched Odin walk away . . . slowly . . . as if wading through treacle. Thor jumped to his feet and strode forward to grab at Odin’s wrist, swinging Odin around only to raise his hands in a prayer motion. The tears pricked at his eyes. The warnings that Helblindi could claim Loki and Magni rang in his ears. Thor begged:

“You cannot disown Loki!”

“Would you rather be imprisoned?” Odin shook his head. “Would you rather be exiled? In the former, you would both be separated from your sons. In the latter, you would both be separated from Magni. This is the lesser of two evils . . . each child shall retain access to one parent, even if it leaves our family irrevocably divided. You would both be free.”

“Loki would be bound to the whim of a so-called ‘brother’ he has never met,” pleaded Thor. “What if Helblindi seeks to marry him to another suitor? What if Helblindi decides he does not want Móði for an heir, only for Loki to have access to _neither_ child? What if –?”

“It will take some time to negotiate with Helblindi, Thor.”

“So you can guarantee the best outcome?”

Odin said nothing. Thor curled his lip and scoffed, as he marched away and paced in quick lines. He buried his hand deep into his hair, as he struggled to breathe slow and deep breaths, and listened as Loki quietly sobbed in his corner with head pressed to his knees, as if no one else were there to witness his fear. Thor spun around and bowed low enough to expose his back, where he knew long lines would be on show. He asked with a blush:

“I demand a formal audience.”

The silence returned once more, so that every exhale of breath could be heard, and – as Odin stepped ever close – Thor’s heart raced quicker and quicker. He placed a closed fist over his heart, as he maintained a pose of a subject before his king, but he could not help looking up to judge Odin’s reaction. The expression was unreadable, but he saw a stray tear fall down Odin’s cheek as he looked to Thor with a trembling smile. Odin quickly schooled his expression and grew stoic, as he rolled back his shoulders and turned his back to Thor.

“Very well,” said Odin. “You shall have one.”

“Promise me that you will not yet declare Loki disowned,” pleaded Thor. “Give me but one hour to bathe and change, so that I may come to the audience chamber and make our defence, and perhaps – together – we may find some other solution. Give us time.”

“You have an hour to prepare. You then have an hour to talk.”

“Thank you, Father. Thank you.”

Odin marched towards the bedroom doors. Thor waited – still bowed – for them to open and close, catching snippets of odd sentences and barely stifled gossip, and soon the doors slammed shut and the outside world ceased to exist. A cool breeze caught at his hair, as Thor finally exhaled a long breath and looked to Loki. He saw Loki . . . dressed in complete nightwear, gown covering his already covered body . . . weeping . . . frightened . . .

Thor ran to Loki’s side and dropped next to him. He threw his arms around Loki and pulled him close, burying a hand deep into black hair and placing another on the small of Loki’s back, and – as he glanced back to the two cots – he scrunched closed his eyes and buried his lips into Loki’s black locks. The idea of living apart from Móði . . . from Loki . . . it was more than he could bear, so much so that he wept in turn and placed kisses over and over to the scalp beneath his touch. Loki said nothing through his choked sobs.

“I will fix things,” swore Thor.


	33. Chapter 33

“Ah, Sif, a familiar face.”

Loki let out a shuddered breath.

The training yard was empty save for a few stray guards. A cold breeze blew across the distance, catching at his hair and leather coat, and – as he briefly closed his eyes to relish in the cool touch on his skin – he heard the rustle of leaves in the trees beyond. The lights of the audience chamber were just about visible from where he stood, enough to make his stomach churn and bile rise to the back of his throat. He blinked away tears with a broken smile.

Sif stood at the far end of the yard, clad in her usual armoured uniform. He looked at the pleated leather skirt as it moved in the breeze, while her black hair blew wildly to her side, and her expression was one so cold that he smirked to see it once again. Sif curled her lip and unsheathed her sword. It shone in what little light remained, enough that he could tell it had not seen recent battle, and her hand gripped the handle so tight that her knuckles turned white under the pressure. Loki rolled his eyes and folded his arms, as he quirked an eyebrow at her.

The reaction was instantaneous. Sif stormed forward and stopped only a few feet from his side, where her blade was thrown out and forced him to jerk back his head, and – as it stopped but an inch under his chin – the cold metal chilled his flesh in a pleasant manner. It was almost amusing enough to distract from the terror boiling beneath the surface, but it served instead only as a reminder that he was apart from their world. Sif spat:

“If you betray him, I will kill you.”

“Yes, it’s good to see you too, Sif,” said Loki.

He took the blade carefully between thumb and forefinger. Loki pushed it away just enough to protect from a mild cut should her hand tremble, and – with an audible hiss of breath – she swept the sword away and sheathed it behind her back. Loki watched her carefully, but her eyes never once left his face. He noted how she never met his gaze. Those dark eyes fixated on a spot on his brow, where his markings were most prominent, and her hands clenched tight into fists at her sides. Loki stepped back with a mock bow and asked:

“What has justified this warm welcome?”

“The entire realm is talking about what you have done,” chided Sif. “I came here to check on Thor and instead find you hidden like a snake in the grass. Is it true what they say? That you seduced Thor in the gardens and led him to his room to . . . copulate?”

“Good news spreads quickly with only an hour head-start.”

“Do you not deny it? Do you have no shame?”

Loki winced and made his way to a stone bench. He dropped down and clasped his hands between parted legs, where he prodded and poked at the blue skin on his hand, and he pursed his lips to think at how all blame would lie at his feet. Loki looked up to see how Sif furrowed his brow and drew in a deep breath, only to let out a long sigh and slump her shoulders, as she ran a hand through her hair and appeared to calm down. Loki muttered:

“It takes two to fuck, Sif. I am just one.”

Sif blushed and walked to his side, where she sat beside him with some distance between, and – as she cast her eyes over him – he noticed that some of the anger dissipated, enough that he could almost forgive her for the initial assumptions and anger. Loki lifted his head to look at the darkening sky, while the forming lump in his throat began to ache. He swallowed back his fears. The tremble to his hands returned, forcing him to press them to the stone at his sides, and he tried to suppress thoughts of Thor’s meeting from his mind. Sif asked in a quiet voice:

“Thor consented?”

“I am a Jotun, not a rapist.”

“I am sorry, Loki,” said Sif. “Old prejudices die hard, while you have given me no cause to trust you after recent events. A guard told me that the Allfather found you together? Thor is your brother! How can anyone assume such actions consensual? How long has this been happening? How can it possibly be justified? You were distrusted as things stood, but now –”

“Now I am nothing more than the filthy Jotun they believed me to be.” Loki gritted his teeth and felt the sting to his eyes. “Aye, I _know_. Needless to say, it was entirely consensual at every step and turn of our developing relationship. Thor was even the instigator.”

“You cannot be serious! Thor would instigate matters?”

“Indeed, he confessed to me.”

Loki kept his gaze on the sky above. He listened to his heart pound loud, while he thought back to the various times spent hidden away with Thor . . . the trust, the acceptance, the competition . . . it was difficult to picture a lifetime without them, especially cast away to an icy wasteland where his people back home assumed him no more than a monster. He barely repressed a jump when Sif next spoke, especially as her voice was so soft and unassuming, and he – with a soft sigh – looked to her to see real concern. Sif whispered:

“How did this begin, Loki?”

“A month after the boys were born,” admitted Loki. “Thor admitted to me that what he felt was more than brotherly love, but it was a month further before I could bring myself to accept that I had the potential to reciprocate in kind. A fully sexual relationship only developed two months after that, which has been ongoing ever since. It has been satisfactory.”

“Simply ‘satisfactory’?” Sif teased. “I hope this is worth ‘satisfactory’.”

“Thor struggles with the role of ‘ _ergi_ ’.” Loki smirked with a shrug. “We have tried several times, but each time the pain is too much for him, as such we have been gradually building up for me to be the receptive partner. I must say it was enjoyable, but I would much rather be the penetrative partner. On that note -? I could ‘give’ more to Thor in other ways, but he insists that he is content with our state of affairs. I believe he finds ‘giving’ to be an arousing state.”

Sif flushed a deep shade of red. Loki bit the inside of his lip to prevent laughter, although he soon tasted iron and his lips pursed into a thin line to fight away a smirk, and yet – as she opened and closed her mouth in a continuous manner – his eyes moved again to the window high on the palace walls. He saw Thor pacing back and forth, while gesticulating wildly, until he disappeared from sight and left Loki with a sense of emptiness. Loki slumped his shoulders and hunched forward, as he stared at his blue skin with watery eyes.

“You were not looking for such details?” Loki let out a huff of breath. “If you were seeking for more romance, I believe Thor has always known his love for me. He insists that it was seeing me one night with Magni where he finally realised the depth of his emotion, but for me -? It was when he was willing to submit to me. He did not see me as a Jotun. He did not see me as a trophy. He did not even see me as a ‘snake in the grass’. Thor simply saw _me_.

“ _He saw me for me_. He knows my faults and loves me despite them, just as he knows when to trust me and when to walk from me, and he never once looked at me any different when I took Jotun form, as if it had been my form all along. He was also willing to take on a stigmatised role simply to ease my insecurities. It – It mattered to me.”

“You are _brothers_ , though, Loki,” said Sif. “Do you know what that means? The Allfather must imprison you or exile you, both of which shall harm Thor irrevocably, and you took this risk _knowing_ the potential outcome. Can you call this ‘love’?”

“I call it an act of desperation,” confessed Loki.

Loki stood and looked again to the windows. The light still shone, but no figures could be seen against the clear glass, and yet he knew that the meeting raged on, else darkness would have descended about the room. Loki walked across the yard, as he kicked at the dirt underfoot and looked to a few small specks of blood from the wound of a warrior. The world around them continued on, even as he pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration.

Sif followed him. He listened as her soft footsteps crunched at the ground, while some servants giggled in the distance close enough that he knew to keep his voice low, and he looked up at the Asgardian sky once again, as the cool breeze intensified and whipped at his hair while he crossed his arms with a sigh. Sif stood behind him, where he caught the scent of her perfume and also the heady scent of cologne. He scoffed. It was clear what the ‘family emergency’ was that Fandral boasted, but Loki said nothing as Sif asked:

“Desperation?”

“I knew it would hurt us to be caught,” confessed Loki. “I simply knew that it would hurt us more to be apart. Do you remember a story once told to us about the stars? It is said two lovers were once punished by being immortalised in the night’s sky, to which their souls were tied to the very constellations, and each one stands beside the other. They reach to each other . . . yearning to meet . . . never quite touching, never quite together.

“You cannot move the stars. They will never be together any more than the moon and the sun, but still they see each other and long for a union of two souls, and the _knowing_ is the worst part of all, for they are forever tempted by what they cannot possess. Is that to be Thor and me? Are we to be kept apart merely for our fate among the stars? No. I think not.”

Sif opened her mouth, but – before she could utter a word – three figures appeared at the edge of the training yard in an almost intimidating manner. Hogun appeared no different from usual, clad in dark colours with grim expression, but the sheer disappointment in Volstagg’s eyes was difficult to endure. Loki looked away, only to see rage emanating from Fandral as his face reddened and his lips pursed into a white line, and he shook his head as if unable to believe that it was Loki before him. They stood still. Not one made to move.

Loki drew in a deep breath and looked to Sif. He waited until she gave a nod before he marched forward, with her by his side for the short walk, but – before he was able to divert around them – Volstagg shot out a hand and pushed at Loki. It was a harsh and strong gesture and knocked Loki back a step. Loki resisted the urge to roll his eyes, as he pursed his lips and raised an eyebrow in Volstagg’s direction, only to hear Volstagg warn:

“If you even think about betraying Thor –”

“You’ll kill me?” Loki rolled his eyes. “Evidently, there will be a line.”

Loki stepped back and brushed at his chest. Volstagg looked Loki over, as his hand dropped to his side. He shook his head and ran a hand over his face, and – with watery eyes – he clapped a hand on Loki’s shoulder and pulled him closer, enough that he could lean into his personal space. It was a strange gesture, one that was difficult to decipher, and Loki narrowed his eyes and assessed the situation, as he kept his senses sharp and mentally calculated how long it would take to reach the dagger hidden on his person. Volstagg whispered:

“What have you done, Loki?”

“Nothing that cannot be fixed with diplomacy and politic prowess,” muttered Loki. “Thor is in audience with the Allfather as we speak, but we all know that nothing can come from that but disappointment and disownment of my person. I have no doubt the announcement of my disowned state will be announced mere minutes after the meeting is called to a close.”

“And you have a solution to that, do you?” Fandral asked. “We know that you will revert to being a citizen of Jotunheim and the heir to Helblindi, but I am sure that the Allfather will think of some manner in which to keep you here. Perhaps he shall broker a marriage.”

“You say that with such contempt,” spat Loki.

“Well, it is hardly ideal! You two are brothers. You were raised together.”

“A marriage is the best for which we can hope.” Loki glared at him with a curled lip. “It is also what Thor and I want, but something to which we always thought impossible, and it is only the circumstances I regret and not the potential outcome. If you were truly his friends, you would support him. Tell me, will you continue to criticise?”

Fandral pressed his tight lips and glowered at Loki. He knew from experience they would be careful how they critiqued him, ever aware of his position and his low level of patience for chastisement, but Thor was their equal and they would gladly express their doubts directly to him. It was possible – with a strong enough argument – they would even change his mind or work against him, and Loki clenched his fists as he fought back a terrifying fear that there could be more obstacles to a union than just Helblindi. Fandral remained ever silent.

“Just as I thought,” spat Loki. “Now, let me think.”

It was true that his removal to Jotunheim would not be immediate, while it was not unusual for arranged marriages to take months – even years – to be fully finalised, and in that time Thor would endure the whispers of scandal and shouts of objections, while their sons would grow ever older and more pressures would present themselves. Loki glanced again to the window. The light was out. He lowered his head and clenched his fists, as he asserted:

“I will away to Jotunheim.”

“How?” Volstagg asked. “Heimdall has closed the Bifrost. The Allfather sent word before his audience with Thor that none shall leave or enter our realm, and to do so would be considered an act of treason! Odin Allfather seeks to contain the news at all costs. You cannot –”

“There are other paths off Asgard,” said Sif. “Ways only known to a few.”

“To _one_ , actually,” corrected Loki.

They looked at him with cold eyes. He drew in a deep breath and raised his hand, where he flexed his fingers and rotated the limb to observe the blue skin in detail, and – as the sun further set – he knew that the darkness would provide further camouflage, even as the pale faces of his companions stood out in the shade of the training yard.  The stars became further prominent, while a glimpse of the moon was seen on the horizon, and he wondered sadly which world was the one that Fárbauti fled. He turned to Fandral and begged:

“I ask only one favour from you.”

“What favour is this?”

“Go to Thor,” said Loki. “Tell him in secret that I have gone to Jotunheim. I know Heimdall; he shall open the Bifrost as it is beneficial to Thor, and it is there that _my_ plans shall come to fruition and I shall save our relationship. We do not need to be separated. If my plan fails for whatever reason -? Heimdall shall see the danger and prevent Thor from following me.”

“They already suspected you of these secret pathways,” added Fandral. “This will _prove_ them to be correct and force them to close such pathways for good! You would sacrifice your secret knowledge in order to – what – somehow magically be with Thor?”

“Who is to say what numbers of pathways exist?”

Loki smirked and tilted his head to the side. He remembered well the words of Fandral during their youth . . . ‘ _never show your hand, Loki, and always keep your cards close to your chest_ ’ . . . it was an enlightening game, where he learnt the tells of each man and the purpose of bluffing to one’s advantage. The loss of one pathway would be worth the sacrifice, especially when a king consort held no need of such secrecy, and then his thoughts turned to Thor and how he would chastise such thoughts. Loki blushed and rapidly blinked.  

“Go to Thor,” said Loki. “Send him after me.”

He pushed past them and marched towards the stables, where he kept a quick pace and refused to look back, and yet – as he moved – he heard the stuttered and loud gasps of Fandral and how he ran forward a few steps before being stopped. Loki scrunched closed his eyes, desperate to ignore their objections. To leave things in the hands of the Allfather would be to prolong their pain, while no guarantees of a positive outcome. He needed to take action.

Jotunheim waited.


	34. Chapter 34

Thor gazed out the window.

The glass was blurred with condensation, as the warmth from inside struck the cool panes, but – even from such a distance – he saw Loki sat on a low stone bench, with Sif by his side as they talked about some topic or other. He reached out his hand to touch upon the glass; it was cold to the touch, but warmed quickly beneath his flesh, and he blushed to think how much it reminded him of Loki’s skin and Loki’s need for cooler climes.

Odin paced centre of the audience hall. The small slaps of his feet echoed about the room, while Thor scrunched shut his eyes and closed his hand into a fist, and – with a few light taps – he glanced to Loki for one last time, vision blurred through unshed tears. He closed his eyes as he turned, as if it might somehow preserve the image of Loki in the shadows. Odin stood centre of a low circular seating area, where he drew in a deep breath until his chest heaved, and pointed towards a seat nearest to the throne that was currently unoccupied.

Thor marched over to the sofa, where he threw himself down onto the cushions. He collapsed back to stare at the murals on the ceiling, where illustrated depictions of their history littered the plaster as works of art, only to see Odin’s face staring back at him from the immortalised paints and oils and charcoals. Thor ran trembling hands over his face, as Odin took the throne and sat with perfect posture and eyes fixated on the far doors. Thor observed:

“A marriage would solve everything.”

Odin scoffed and leaned back. He rested his forearms on the arms of the throne, while he pursed at his lips and hardened his gaze, and Thor listened as his heart raced ever quicker in his ears, pounding with a regularity that seemed abnormal for the situation. Thor drew in deep breaths, as he swallowed back the anxiety that welled in this throat, while the wind outside blew harder and rattled the old glass enough to warp the light that shone through. It cast odd shadows about the tiles, adding darkness to Odin’s face as he confessed:

“We would need Helblindi’s consent.”

“Why?” Thor spat. “Why do we need his consent?”

“All familial rights shall revert to Helblindi once Loki is disowned,” said Odin. “I have closed the Bifrost for now, which shall prevent word from spreading to other realms, and that will hopefully give us enough time to address the issue with our people. We shall talk with our advisors and prepare for the inevitable negotiations. Let us hope for a head-start.”

“You are not answering my question!”

“Thor, I know you no longer wish to rule. I know for you it is an uneasy chore, which you take simply as none other has proven themselves responsible enough for the weight of a crown, but – if you are to be king – you must understand that your subjects come before all else, including that of even your most beloved. If Helblindi learns you have married his brother without his consent, it could be all the cause he needs for a war.

“It could be interpreted as coercion on Loki’s part, which we would have no way to disprove, and it could be seen as an attempt to politically weaken Jotunheim, as we would have taken away one of its heirs to wed our crown prince. That is not to mention laws broken, as a political wedding requires the consent of both rulers. It would lead to chaos.”

“So we just sit here and do nothing?” Thor ran his hands over his face. “It could take months . . . _years_. . .  to negotiate a wedding, assuming Helblindi is even open to such a union. Am I to be separated from Loki and my son in all that time?”

“There always the possibility he may immediately consent.”

Thor leaned forward and let out a shuddered breath. He rested his arms on his knees, while he stared at the floor and strove not to let anxious excitement overcome him, and – with eyes fixated on tiles – he focussed on slowing his breaths. The cold wind lashed at the windows outside, providing a momentary distraction as Thor reached up to massage his temples with shaking hands, and looked to Odin with wet eyes as he asked in a quiet voice:

“Is that a likely option?”

Odin turned his head, as he looked away across the room. The shadows played across his face, darkening and deepening the lines that appeared, and he appeared far older than his years, so that – in one instant – Thor felt the sting of mortality and a stab of grief. He saw Odin was on limited time, even as he longed for more days with his father. Thor lowered his hands and looked to the calluses marked by time, where a few scars marred pale skin, and he saw a lifetime mapped in lines and wondered what more would come. He asked:

“Would Helblindi consent without contest?”

“Blood is everything to the Jotun,” whispered Odin. “The removal of Loki was . . . a mistake in some respects, but I succumbed to basic emotion just as you have allowed emotion to cloud your judgement in this matter. Even an abandoned runt is still the blood of its sire, so to forcibly part them is considered an act so barbaric that it is becomes monstrous. I would be surprised if Helblindi did not take his claim over Loki with absolute seriousness.”

“They have never so much as _met_ ,” spat Thor. “I think Loki says he saw Helblindi once in passing, while he met with Laufey, but that was the very extent of their interactions. How can he form such a sense of duty to one he has no real relationship?”

“He would ask the same of us.” Odin clenched his hands. “He would ask how we could possibly love or feel duty to one whose blood does not course through our veins, or – at least – how the biological connection of an uncle and cousin could top that of a brother. We must abide by inter-planetary laws on this matter. We cannot press a marriage without consent.”

“Loki is his own person,” muttered Thor. “He belongs to no one!”

“He is a prince. He belongs to his people and his king.”

Thor winced and licked at his lips. He knew too well that no other could rule after Odin, as Loki had proven himself untrustworthy and their sons were too young, and yet the heavy weight of responsibility bore down hard on his shoulders. The ache to his shoulders intensified, as his eyes stung and his chest burned with a long held breath, and – as he bit the inside of his lip – he turned to Odin and gestured wildly with random and wild motions, desperate to give form to some abstract thoughts, as he pleaded:

“Let me take full responsibility.”

There was no response from Odin. Thor clenched his fists until nails dug into flesh, while his jaw tightened until his teeth ached, and yet he remained calm and closed his eyes for a few seconds, while he drew in long and deep breaths. He blinked away tears and listened as the wind howled, before he pointed towards his chest with both hands. Odin continued to stare outward across the hall, without a single word, even as Thor continued desperately with:

“Give me the full blame.”

“So I exile you for the act of rape?” Odin shook his head. “It would forever deny you access to your children, as such the only benefit would be for Loki. No, Thor. The damage would be permanent, but – this way – the damage shall only be temporary. Once this meeting has concluded, I shall announce Loki’s disownment to our people. That is all.”

“Do not do this, Father,” begged Thor. “There is every chance Helblindi will not want to risk war, especially over a brother he has never met! I could marry Loki today. The minute he is disowned, we could be wed and avoid all further issues. It would be best for all.”

“And when Helblindi declares war over you stealing what is his?”

“He will not! He will not care about Loki!”

Odin stood from his throne. Thor caught the visible emotion writ across his features, where he lowered his head and half-lidded his eyes, and – for a moment – his skin seemed to pale as his lips half-parted with unspoken words ready to fall. The wind continued to howl. The lights remained ever dim. The world appeared unchanged, even as Odin drew in a deep breath and clasped his hands at the small of his back, and Thor almost saw a hint of vulnerability that seemed so unlike a king. It sent a heavy weight of fear to his stomach.

“He will care, Thor,” whispered Odin. “He will care.”

Odin kept his eye forward, as he marched towards the doors. The sound of his footsteps echoed out, this time softer and slower than before, and soon – as the doors were flung open, with a blast of light shining through – he was illuminated where he paused in the doorway. He flicked a hand to turn out the overhead lights of the hall, leaving Thor with only the starlight and few stray lamps to the sides of the hall. Shadows overcame him.

The doors slammed shut. Thor buried his head into his hands, as the tears came freely, and soon time stood still as he pressed the base of his palms into his sockets, where he watched the sparks of light explode before his vision. He dropped his hands and hunched forward, unable to process the seconds that passed into minutes. Loki would be disowned. It would be days at most before he was gone . . . before Móði was gone . . . the absence cleaved into his heart before they were even removed from his life. The fear was palpable.

He almost didn’t hear as the doors opened once more. The light poured forth and forced him to blink rapidly to focus his gaze, as he raised a hand to shield his eyes, and – as he cursed – he saw the inky blank sky outside and how rain lashed against the windowpanes, cascading down to blur the world outside. Thor licked at his lips and ran a hand through his hair, as he looked to see Fandral in the doorway with eyes wide and mouth open. Fandral called out:

“You must come at once.”

“For what reason?”

“Okay, I need you _not_ to panic here,” said Fandral. “Loki spoke with such confidence that I am _sure_ he has things under control, and Heimdall sent word that it is safe to follow, but – well – he _may_ have gone to . . . ah . . . Jotunheim. Remember, do not panic!”

Thor jumped to his feet. He marched over to Fandral and saw his hair soaked with rain, while his skin was flushed red from the wild winds, and – even as terrified as he looked – the fear on his face did not come close to the panic in Thor’s breast. The lump in Thor’s throat seared with pain, while he lifted a hand and jabbed a finger in Fandral’s direction with contorted mouth, as he struggled to process what he heard. Thor clenched his fists and spun around, where he let out a stifled laugh and then turned back, only to ask in a barely restrained voice:

“My brother is in Jotunheim?”

“We couldn’t stop him, Thor, I swear.”

“Did you even try?” Thor asked. “My brother . . . no. . . _Loki_ – the very man who was born a trickster, who manipulates all that he meets, who would have no qualms about the genocide of the Jotun race – is currently alone on Jotunheim without any supervision. What does he even seek to accomplish? Father will have his head for circumventing the ban on the Bifrost!”

“About that . . . Heimdall is willing to work around matters for you. Well, that is what we _inferred_ , as he simply said he is bound by his king and cannot open the Bifrost to you, but just sort of . . . well . . . walked off leaving the Bifrost open and set to Jotunheim.”

“He is a rather complicated fellow,” muttered Thor.

“See, that is exactly what I said!”

Thor cursed and glared toward the windows; the Bifrost was cut off from his sights, but he had no doubt Loki used other means to seek out passage to Jotunheim, and there – alone, vulnerable, _disowned_ – he would be at the mercy of Helblindi. The beating of his heart was too loud for comfort, as fear turned to fury, and he soon clapped a hand firmly on Fandral’s shoulder and leaned into his personal space. They stood with faces bit a few inches from one another, as Thor drew in all his self-restraint to say in place of a scream:

“Tell my father nothing.”

“What if he asks where you’ve disappeared?”

“Then tell him this simple truth . . .”

Thor cricked his neck and flexed his back. He raised a hand high into the air with open hand, as Mjölnir sped through the air from its place at the far end of the hall, and – as it crashed into his hand – he gripped hard on the familiar leather hilt and smirked to Fandral, complete with a wink and a shrug of his shoulders. Fandral was halfway through a spluttered objection, as Thor stormed through the doors and marched down the hallway with head held high and back held straight. He called out over his shoulder in a firm voice:  

“Thor Odinson is away to Jotunheim.”

 


	35. Chapter 35

Loki remained silent.

The table before him was pure ice, sculpted with intricate patterns that were works of art in their own right, and – across its surface – he saw dozens of pieces of parchment, military books, and various contracts. A small bowl sat central, carved from glass, where inside were an array of nuts and seeds that seemed designed to graze, while several mugs sat on the perimeter of the table. They were scentless. The liquid clear. Water, nothing more.

Loki stole a glance to the windows. He watched as the snow swirled and swam about the panes of glass, piling up into small mountains on the iced sill, and he quirked an eyebrow in consideration of how much glass played a pivotal role in their décor. The throne at the head of the table was a strange mixture of ice, glass, and crystal. Loki pressed a hand to the throne, where the cold ice provided a comfort to his soft skin. A fur from a rare animal lined the seat itself, while a crown hung from a small iced spindle on the arm.

The main doors to the meeting room opened; powdered ice and dust swept inside in small clouds on the floor, while two guards took their positions on either side, and – with long strides – Helblindi entered with back straight and head held high, as he searched the room with green irises set within otherwise red eyes. The only other concessions to his Asgardian heritage were the long locks of black hair, along with all too mortal ears.

“Helblindi Laufeyson,” said Loki. “I am Loki Odinson.”

Loki pulled back his hand from Helblindi’s throne. He bowed deep with a smirk, before he stood upright and looked Helblindi over with an observant gaze, and – as he narrowed his eyes – he noted that he was shorter than others of his race, yet far taller than an Asgardian. It forced Loki to crane his neck. The patterns that graced that blue skin were more pronounced than other Jotuns, while the protrusions on his head were barely masked by his hair.

He was more heavily dressed than others of his kind, which included a one-shouldered fur cape that draped across his body, and a thick leather skirt protected his modesty and hung down to his knees, where they met legs covered with metal decorative rings. The doors closed behind him, leaving Loki alone with the three Jotun. He stood straight. He drew in a deep breath and smiled, despite the way his heart raced, but Helblindi did nothing except to offer forth a long-shuddered sigh, while tears pricked at his eyes. Helblindi said:

“You look just like her.”

Loki stepped away from the throne. Helblindi strode towards him with arms held wide, as if ready for a warm embrace, but Loki – with a curl of his lip – threw out his hand with spread fingers, as he rapidly stepped back with a dark glare. Helblindi stopped beside the throne, only to give a muffled laugh and run a hand through his hair. It was strange to watch. The gesture was so human that he could almost forget that he looked into the eyes of a monster, even as Helblindi dropped himself onto the throne with a loose smile. Loki spat out:

“Who do I look like?”

“Our mother,” whispered Helblindi. “The resemblance is unnatural. We have pictures that we can show you, but – were it not for that sneer and the roll of your eyes – I could almost believe that she were back here among us. You have too much of our father’s expressions. It lends credence to the theory that some things are simply . . . genetics.”

“Is that so?” Loki folded his arms. “I am told that I sound very much like _my_ father. I am told that my skills at seiðr are very much like _my_ mother. I have my father’s political prowess, my mother’s tactical abilities, and my brother’s stubbornness. Those are _not_ genetics.”

“I would be nicer, if I were you. You try us enough as things stand.”

“I try you how? By asking for an audience with a king?”

Helblindi stood and marched to the windows. Loki noted that the throne and table were not central to the room, but instead kept to the edges, and he saw how Helblindi clasped his wrist behind his back. Both arms were hidden beneath the fur cape. He was not immune to the cold. The Asgardian blood won out, enough to chill him when no others were chilled, and he stood at the closed window to gaze out over his people, who – bare-chested, barely clothed – went about their duties like ants in a nest, milling about on the landscape. Helblindi said coldly:

“You played a direct part in our father’s death.”

“I did no such thing,” lied Loki.

“No, we cannot _prove_ you killed him in anything but self-defence.” Helblindi schooled his expression into one stoic and still. “We can, however, prove that you had many meetings with him in the run-up to his invasion of Asgard, and – with good reason – our people suspect that you may have provoked him into action. Our people are conflicted. There is no greater crime than to spill the blood of your line, but equally . . . his rule was strict. We were isolated.”

“I see, so then you may thank me for your freedom,” teased Loki.

“I would be tempted to make these talks harder on you, but . . . you made things far easier on me by aiding in his passing, I must admit. Do you think you are the only one with secrets? I struggled immensely to hide from him certain matters, while your abduction left him fearful and angry at the world around him. He punished harshly to protect greatly.”

“Helblindi, I did not come here to talk about your father. I am sure that Odin and Thor will continue to foster good relations with you, as one set of rulers to another, but my purpose is more selfish in nature. I seek only for your blessing regarding one particular marriage.”

“Whose wedding am I to give my blessing?”

“That would be my wedding,” said Loki. “I seek to wed Thor.”

Helblindi turned with wide eyes. The smile that crossed his lips was sincere, enough that it brought creases to his eyes and cheeks, while he softened his stance and let go of his wrists, so that arms dropped to his sides. Loki pursed his lips and quirked an eyebrow, as he slowly walked over to the window and stood beside Helblindi, even as he leant against the sill and kept his gaze cast over the wasteland below. He could practically feel Helblindi angled toward him . . . watching his every breath . . . Helblindi asked in a nervous voice:

“You would ask for the blessing of your brother?”

Loki winced. He looked out over the landscape beyond, where he caught sight of a training yard and what appeared to be a nursery of sorts, and – as he bit at his lip – he struggled to reconcile how creature so innocent . . . so much like Móði in physique . . . could come from those that were so barbaric in nature. Loki said nothing, although he clenched and unclenched his hands over and over, as he let out a low exhale of breath through his nose.

Helblindi let out a small scoff; his shoulders slumped, as he ran a hand over his face, where Loki noted a long scar across the inside of his palm. He shook his head, and – with slow and shuffled movements – Helblindi headed towards the throne where he dropped down onto its furs with a heavy thud. He leant one elbow on the tabletop, only to bury his head into his hand with closed eyes. Loki sighed and walked slowly around the table, where he dropped onto an icy chair free from furs and reclined back, and rested his arms on the cold sides with a quirk of his head. Helblindi murmured in a low voice:

“You do not see me as a brother, do you?”

“I am Odin’s son, borne of Asgard.”

“Do not treat me like a fool, Loki,” warned Helblindi. “You have been disowned. If you were still the son of Odin Borson, you would require _his_ permission to wed and not that of a rival realm, which is not to mention one simple fact: brothers cannot wed. Your internalised racism is also clearer than you realise, so you would only come to me as a last resort.”

Loki rapidly blinked. He glanced to the two guards, neither of which showed any sign of acknowledgement, and then turned his eyes to Helblindi, who nursed his temple with his thumb while casting a cold eye across the table. Loki schooled his expression, desperate to retain some control of the situation, while Helblindi pulled back with arms folded across his chest, and the snow outside continued to sweep against the windowpanes. Helblindi smirked and raised a hand to signal to the closest guard, who moved to pour drinks.

“Loki, you are not the only one who is shrewd.”

The guard poured clear waters from a nearby side-table, bringing over two stone cups to Loki and Helblindi in turn, and – as he returned to his post – Helblindi sipped at the water and feign-toasted Loki with a shrug of his shoulders. Loki lifted the stone. It was smooth to the touch and strange in design, but it held a considerable amount of water and its beige colour was attractive to the eye, even as the contents sloshed around with small ripples.

“Odin is about to disown me,” admitted Loki.

“For the act of incest?”

“Yes, that.” Loki shrugged. “Our relationship broke too many laws. He could exile us and take our son Magni from us, to serve as his heir, or he could imprison us and leave both our sons with neither father. He chose instead to disown. The hope was that he could broker a deal for a marriage, but – alas – I fear I may do a _far_ better job at such negotiations.”

“Ah, so you realise all familial rights reside with me?” Helblindi pursed his lips and put down his cup. “That is a heavy responsibility, which I shall not take lightly, but I fear you would have done better to leave the negotiations to the Allfather. I shall be honest.”

“Why? So you could manipulate him and delay the wedding?”

“Assuming there to _be_ a wedding? Yes,” admitted Helblindi. “I will assume he closed down the Bifrost, which is why no word of your disownment has come my way, and I shall assume you left without permission through secret means. You do not have the authority as a _Jotun_ citizen to speak on behalf of Asgard or to make promises. Thus, you are in a position that means I cannot let you return, but equally you have no leverage to force your return.”

“Ah, now I see the hypocritical nature of a true Jotun,” spat Loki. “You claim to love me as a brother, only to use my suffering to your political advantage. My, Laufey would be proud! I shall try to make this simple, before it must be difficult, and ask why you would deny your flesh and blood the opportunity to be happy with their beloved. Any reason, _Brother_?”

“You ascribe to me malicious intent as you project your own.”

“Now you know me so well? Interesting.”

Helblindi sighed and stood from his throne. He walked around the table with slow and deliberate movements, as he swung one foot before the other as if walking a strict line, and dragged a chair from the side of the table with him. There was a loud scrape as ice dragged over ice, creating a screeching sound that pierced Loki’s ears, before Helblindi dropped the chair just a few inches away and straddled it from behind, so that he could rest his arms on its back and his chin on his arms. Loki fought the urge to roll his eyes, as Helblindi said:

“It is my duty to protect you.”

“By denying me a family unit with my love?”

“Loki, you are now my charge,” said Helblindi. “If anything untoward were to happen to you, it would be my responsibility and my fault alone. I hold your fate in my hands. You are my brother, but – first and foremost – you are a Jotun citizen. I will not treat you any differently to any other of my subjects, as it is my duty to see that no harm ever befalls you.”

“I was not aware marrying an Asgardian prince would harm me.”

“You lie, Brother! Do you not know the circumstances of your ‘adoption’? You were stolen away from us by Odin, where you slept within our sacred temple, and you were denied all access to our people in that time. The spell cast on you even changed your biology, denying you the very blood of our people, and – tell me – what did you learn of our history, our culture, our customs? You were taught to hate us. You were taught to hate yourself.

“I will gladly take from Odin what is owed to our people, but that does not mean I shall ever trust him not to abuse our relationship. If he believes me nothing more than a foolish Jotun that will bend over backwards to accommodate him -? Let him. I simply ask that he does not think me _so_ foolish that I would give away our father’s greatest treasure with no thought.”

“Now you think _me_ the fool,” chided Loki. “I was no more than the runt to Laufey. He left me to die in that temple, so that the elements could claim me, and he cared only once he learnt that I was in his worst enemy’s hand. He was petty and jealous, no more.”

“If that is what you need to believe, Loki -? You believe it.”

“What has Laufey to do with my decision to marry?”

Helblindi rolled his eyes and snatched at a piece of paper. It slid across the table before Loki, where he caught sight of a family tree with all its varying branches, and – with another short reach – Helblindi grabbed at a small object and placed it before Loki. The round silver was engraved with beautiful patterns, but its metal was uncommon in such climes and rarely used even in decoration by the Jotun people. Loki sighed and opened up the flat silver to reveal a small mirror, which reflected back at him a Jotun face no different from any other.

He tensed. He narrowed his gaze. Loki caught a small inscription on the inside of the lid, which read simply: _‘to my dearest sister, may you never forget who you are’_. The item was shined as if new, but the scuffs and scratches on its edges betrayed its age, and Loki snapped shut the pocket mirror with a hiss of breath. He struggled to breathe as his heart raced, but looked to Helblindi with a curled lip and shook his head. Helblindi asked:

“Do you think your relationship with Thor shall last?”

Loki looked to the name Fárbauti on the page, where he traced the line to Laufey, and – as he drew in a deep breath – he pulled back his hand and pursed at his lips, while he swallowed back the rage that cloyed in the back of his throat. He cast his eyes over the other documents . . . _birth certificates, old photographs, contracts about dowries_. . . the table was a maze of the royal line, stemming back generations. Loki glanced to Helblindi and saw that his green eyes were fixated on him, even as he said not one word. Loki said:

“We love one another, yes.”

“Love is not always enough,” replied Helblindi. “Love denied our mother her heritage, while her people judged her for having never married Father, and she died alone without ever reconciling with her lost brother. Love causes me to pine for one I cannot possess, forcing me to go without heir and forever live in the shadows. Love has brought you to your knees. You are here . . . begging me, a Jotun so beneath you . . . what is love now?”

“What do Jotuns know about love?” Loki wrung his hands. “I do not come here to grovel before you, but merely to ask for you to give me what is owed: Thor. If you cannot do that, I am more than willing to negotiate with you. Do you assume that I would come here without leverage? I have more to offer than you assume. Why not consider such a union?”

“How long have you had this form, Loki?” Helblindi asked in a fatigued voice. “How long have Asgard played nice with us in negotiations? Five months? Six? Seven? This is not long enough to establish either pattern or character. Why should I trust them? Why do you?”

“You think they would cause me harm?”

“Why not? They assumed the same of Father when he married Mother.” Helblindi shrugged. “What if they make you a mere trophy? Imprison you and only bring you out for social events? What if they beat you? Rape you? Worse . . . what if you fall out of love? Do you not think of anything worse than to be forever tied to one that you can barely endure?

“That is my greatest worry for you, Loki. It is _why_ our parents never married. A political union can never be undone, much for the reasons you fear a lack of a union in the first place, and it could even cause a full-blown war should one realm feel slighted. He was your so-called ‘brother’ all these years, but a marriage is . . . different. A couple cannot bicker and fight as siblings bicker and fight. What when your eye strays? What when temptation strikes?”

Loki stood once more, as he walked to the windows. He thought back to Thor’s few affairs during their younger years, where he would fall so desperately in love and fight Odin for his right to pick his future queen, until – one day – Odin learnt not to fight back. It was a fleeting love. It was a crush. Thor would always evolve and grow, only to realise that the woman was not one to whom he could commit, and so the process would begin afresh. Loki reached out to place a hand on the glass. He traced light patterns with his finger, until Helblindi said:

“He may even take a mistress.”

The words were barely a whisper. Loki turned to realise they were no longer discussing Thor, as Helblindi gave an absent smile to one of the stray documents on the table, and – with a hiss of breath – he tapped a name with his forefinger. He paled. It was as if he forgot Loki present, even as Loki slowly made his way back to his seat and threw himself down, and he only jumped back to life when Loki strove to look over his shoulder. The paper was flipped over and Helblindi turned to stare at Loki with a firm gaze, as he said in a low voice:

“I will also admit to some selfishness.”

“You desire an heir,” said Loki.

“You must have pieced things together,” replied Helblindi. “Still, you have Móði. He is a quarter-Jotun in nature and looks almost fully Jotun in form, as such he would make the perfect heir, and – to protect our line – we could arrange a marriage to a full-blooded Jotun once he comes of age. He is of your blood. You are of Laufey’s blood.”

“Ah, yes, and _now_ we come to my leverage.” Loki smirked and shrugged. “I imagine you desire a legitimate heir free from any maladies, yes? It would also keep you free from scandal and even civil war should this realm be without heir when you pass.”

“Hmm, you would barter your son for your right to marry?”

Loki snatched back at the family tree. He flipped it over to observe his lines, where it was clear he was matched romantically with his biological cousin, and noticed the distinct pattern over various generations for matches between cousins and distant relatives. The bloodline was pure until Fárbauti. Loki looked at the images of various Jotun over the ages, with some bearing features so much like his and others almost total strangers, and – with a harsh jab of his fingers on the family tree – he looked to Helblindi and said in a firm voice:

“Móði will still live on Asgard with us.”

“Then I ask for a month each year where he shall reside here,” said Helblindi. “He must also be taught extensively about our language, our history, and our customs. On my death, Móði shall be made king of Jotunheim, but that merely benefits you . . . I am not seeing _quite_ enough for me to consider putting my blood at considerable risk by a hasty marriage.”

“I would be King Consort.” Loki crossed his arms and legs. “The Allfather would rather die than give you back the Casket, am I correct? I will see to it that – upon his _natural_ death – you will receive the Casket from King Thor without any hesitation.”

“You can guarantee this?”

“In writing,” promised Loki. “It ultimately means nothing now, but – once I become consort – it _would_ become legally binding and secure you a legacy. Thor would agree. He is not our father and shall never be so, as such he believes that Jotuns are people like any other, and he would be willing to trust you should you show him reason to trust.”

Helblindi laughed and stood beside the table. He pulled at various contracts, almost at random, but then dropped them before Loki . . . _broken treaties, lost accords, promised unfulfilled_. . . the names of Bor and Odin littered the pages. Loki cricked his neck and licked at his lips, as he strove to push back the building anxiety. The word of one of Odin’s line was essentially worthless. He drew in a deep breath. Helblindi walked towards the window and looked out once again, but this time his eyes fixated on the horizon. Helblindi asked:

“And if he does not trust us?”

“I would be his consort,” said Loki. “Do you think me so incapable as to not find ways to change his mind? Even if he does not change his mind, or even if my magic fails to ‘convince’ him to make such changes -? You would have the contract. It could be argued the word of a consort does not carry such weight, but to ignore my word would be a legitimate cause for war. Thor would do anything to prevent war, as such he would concede. ”

“What if I use the Casket for ill, as our father once did? Any promise made to you would require you to trust me, Loki,” teased Helblindi. “You also think me a fool. I know I will see Móði as my heir, but the Casket will never be mine merely on your word alone. No, this is something I will negotiate with Thor himself once the time comes. One ruler to another.”

“Yet you would trust me to keep my word on Móði?”

“He is yours to give away,” said Helblindi. “The Casket is not.”

The snow swept at the windows. It was difficult to see beyond, but Loki was certain that Helblindi’s eyes fell on what had seemed to be the nursery, and – as he smiled – the distant sound of bells and laughter could almost be discerned on the wind. He reached out to touch at the glass, where he tapped a strange tune that sounded primal and broken, before he turned to face Loki with a firm gaze. He cocked his head to the side and drew in a deep breath.

“The Casket is seen to belong to Asgard.” Helblindi lowered his head. “If we tried to enforce your ‘contract’ and Thor ever disagreed to its terms -? We would be at war. I will not risk the lives of my people over a mere trinket. No, an heir is enough for me.”

“I am offering you the Winter Casket and you will not take it?”

“Not from you, Little One. Not from you.”

Loki opened his mouth to object; the doors swung wide before he could utter a word of complaint, where two more guards strode in and bowed a few feet away from the table, and – as they kept their heads low – Helblindi quirked an eyebrow and raised a hand. They stood immediately on the silent command. Loki assessed the situation, while he glanced from person to person and strove to ignore the way his heart raced, but his pulse sounded louder and louder until finally the guards spoke. He audibly exhaled as they said:

“King Helblindi, Prince Thor has arrived.”

Helblindi laughed and folded his arms. He looked to Loki with a quirked eyebrow, but Loki – with hands raised in a feigned gesture of surrender – said nothing and remained seated, even as Helblindi rolled his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose with a smile. The guards looked perplexed, as they observed their king with a strange detachment, until Helblindi clapped his hands together and said with a sigh that hung heavy on the air:

“Well, I suppose we have a wedding to prepare and a contract to sign.”

The guards departed at once, but Helblindi marched to the table. He picked at a stray piece of paper and handed it towards Loki, who – with a narrowed gaze – snatched at the document and glanced over its contents. It was clearly a contract designed to secure Móði as heir, along with stipulations outlined by Helblindi . . . _time spent on Jotunheim, a strict educational system, due to rule on Helblindi’s death_. . . Loki bit into his lip until he tasted blood. He flared his nostrils to realise he had been played from the start, as Helblindi chirped:

“An heir in exchange for a spouse, yes?”

“Yes,” muttered Loki. “Of course.”


	36. Chapter 36

“Please, tell me it can be undone.”

Frigga blinked away unshed tears; Odin stood resolute on the balcony, with hands pressed against the marble rail to prevent the tremble from being visible, and – as he kept his back to her – she watched as the wind caught at his grey hair. The full armour looked out of place within their private rooms, even as the moonlight caught on his shoulder. It glistened with his every movement. He hunched his back, while his eyes remained downcast.

The Bifrost shone in the distance. It flashed brightly into life, before it dimmed and died away, leaving only a brief afterimage on her eyesight, as she slowly walked ever closer to Odin and stood by his side. Frigga reached out to place her fingers on the back of his hand, before – with a long sigh – she squeezed hard on him for a momentary comfort. He chuckled and turned his hand to squeeze back. The interlocking of their fingers warmed her skin, even as she felt his pulse at the join, and together they looked out into the distance.

Frigga wrapped her free arm around his, as she leaned her head against his shoulder, and – as he turned to bury his face within her hair, breathing deep the scent of perfume – a small gurgle and murmur emitted from Móði from the bedroom proper. The occasional sneezes from Móði brought small winces to her face, as she listened to the running waters in the _en suite_ and swore to wash away the perfumes once their conversation reached its end.

“There is still time to bring them back,” pleaded Frigga.

Odin held tight to her hand. He gently turned her, so that – as they stood face to face – he could place both hands on her upper arms, and lock eyes with her until she could see the tear-stain that marred his otherwise handsome cheek. Frigga reached out to wipe away the mark, while leaning closer against him. The hint was taken. He pressed his lips to hers, until nothing else existed except for that one shared moment, and yet – as Odin pulled back – a fresh tear fell and her heart broke for him once more. Odin confessed: 

“I cannot undo what is done.”

“It is not safe for Thor to wander Jotunheim,” said Frigga. “What if he seeks to bring Loki back by force? What if Helblindi seeks to harm Loki? There are too many variables. We have two grandchildren in just the other room . . . they need both fathers. If you do not intervene now, it may be too late to intervene later. You can put a stop to this.”

“It is too late, my love. Loki has made his choice.” Odin shook his head. “He may have waited out the next few days here, as we worked out a means to negotiate, and perhaps we could even have bargained for him to remain here while negotiations took place, but instead he broke the laws of his king and fled into our enemy’s lands. If he does not see me as a father, he must at least respect me as a king. I cannot condone such actions.”

“I know you,” whispered Frigga. “I know you too well.”

Frigga raised her hand to his cheek. The skin was cold and clammy, enough that it reinforced her fear that his years were limited to the single-digits, and the idea of living without him – even if she perhaps was not far behind him in years – brought a stab of pain to her chest. Frigga traced every line and wrinkle within her reach, while her other hand came up to rest on his neck and felt the rhythmic beat of his pulse. The cold wind caught at her nightdress, although it appeared to capture Odin’s eye and she blushed under his gaze. Frigga whispered:

“You seek to push him out of your heart, simply as your heart cannot bear that pain. He does not reject you any more than you reject him. You assume his motives just as he assumes yours, but there is love in both your hearts should you allow the other room.”

“He is my son,” spat Odin. “I cannot condone such a union!”

The furrowed brow betrayed his conflict. Frigga pressed a kiss to his lips, one fleeting and chaste, but it was enough to bring water to his eyes, as he looked to her with a pleading expression and paled cheeks. The wind picked up speed, enough that – with a gentle hand – she led him into the bedroom and walked over to the marital bed. He sat beside her on the edge, hands once again entwined, as she licked at her lips and let her tears fall. Frigga said:

“If you deny this marriage, you will lose _both_ sons.”

Odin pulled her into an embrace, as he buried his head into her neck. Frigga wrapped her arms around him, holding him tight, as she felt the wracked sobs barely stifled by such self-control, and soon tears touched on her soft skin. He sought to hide his shame. He hid his face to hide his tears. Frigga wept in turn, while running her fingers through his grey locks, and hummed an old tune to him with a low voice. The wind howled from outside.

The cold armour provided an unwelcome barrier. It took little to coax him back, as she slowly removed the pieces of armour and stripped him of such formal attire, and – once his form was finally bared to her – she realised that there was a vulnerable man beneath the strong king. He reached for his night-shirt and dressed for the night, before he pulled her into his lap and pressed dozens of kisses to her neck, as he forced a smile that did not quite reach his eyes. It took all her restraint to pull back, with both hands on his cheeks, and ask quietly:

“Do you think Helblindi shall allow them to wed?”

“I fear they shall be wed by tonight.”

“Without their parents present?” Frigga pulled back with a gasp. “No. _No_! Loki would not agree to such a life-changing ceremony without his mother to bear witness. Are we to be excluded from such a pivotal event? Am I to miss the wedding of my only sons? I assumed they would only seek for Helblindi’s approval, but this . . . it would break my heart.”

“You would condone and support an incestuous relationship?”

“Did you not disown Loki? Is he no longer ours?”

Frigga bit at her lip and winced. The bitterness was too harsh for her liking, and – with a soft apology – she kissed his cheek and slid away onto the bed, where she sat back against the headrest and raised a hand to hide her mouth. There was a tremble to her lips; Odin half-raised his hand towards her, as he opened his mouth to utter an apology, but it appeared he was just as lost for words. He dropped his hand, just as she dropped her gaze. They sat in awkward silence until a loud cry issued forth from Móði, piercing their ears with some pain.

Móði sat upright as tiny hands grasped at bars. He shook them with an admirable strength, enough that Magni started to stir as the rattling noise echoed about the room, and his blue cheeks darkened almost black as he screamed out. Odin let out a noise between a growl and a groan, before slowly climbing to his feet with a wince of pain. He walked over to Móði and took the six-month old into his arms. Frigga smiled through tears and observed:

“You are too stubborn.”

Odin scoffed and held Móði close to his chest; Móði let out a wide yawn, as he grasped hard at the lapels of Odin’s nightshirt, and rested his ear against Odin’s heart, where the rapid beating soothed him into a light sleep. The smile Odin bore was sincere, enough that it brought colour to his cheeks and warmth to his eyes. Frigga patted the bed beside her. He walked around and awkwardly sat down, before he swung his legs onto his bed and reclined with a low groan, even as Móði shifted and mewled in turn. Odin said in a quiet voice:  

“I fear I see too much of myself in Loki.”

“That is why you argue so.”

“I disowned him only as a political necessity,” whispered Odin. “Is that wrong? Is it wrong to view the boy that I once held in my arms . . . that made me smile, that made me cry . . . is it wrong to view him still as my son? I know I cannot express an objection to this union, as it is also a necessary evil to protect both children, but I fear too much I am losing Loki.”

“I knew of their affair, but I hoped it should remain secret for some years. We would have time to discuss matters with them and work on our future negotiations, as well as to form solid foundations with Helblindi, but instead . . . this secrecy has pushed them to be uncovered. I am too much at fault. If I had your nature for discipline, it could be that so much could have been prevented, but to see Thor so much in love -? I could not part them.”

“And so this is it? We are to blame ourselves?” Odin glanced down at Móði. “I must lose one son in order to gain a son-in-law. After we lost Hela, I swore never again to lose another child, and yet . . . I feel Loki slowly slipping away from my grasp. I have failed him.”

“You gave him a home. You gave him love. You failed no one.”

“Then where is my son now?”

Odin ran his finger over Móði’s hair. The memories of Loki were still fresh . . . _tears down frozen cheeks, as the young babe struggled where he lay and wept for attention, and Odin – socket still searing with agony – could only smile to see such innocence, such helplessness . . ._ Móði always cried much as Loki cried, with the same pleading expression. Móði even seemed soothed by the same touches and same songs, only ever content when in the arms of his relatives. Odin breathed low and deep, watching as Móði moved on his chest.

Frigga moved beside him, where she rested her head in the crook of his neck, and her arm came around him so that she could rest a soft hand over his, so that – together – they held onto Móði and watched as his red eyes fluttered open and closed. Odin smiled as they entwined their fingers, while Móði yawned and obliviously lay on a chest softened over the years from age and growing ill health. Frigga whispered in a low voice:

“So long as Móði is here, Loki will always be with us.”

“The resemblance is most uncanny,” admitted Odin. “I simply fear that history shall repeat itself. Do you truly think that Loki shall learn from my errors? No. I see him embody my flaws, even as he considers them his strength, and I remember being just as blind when it came to seeing myself in my father before me. This marriage shall just be the start.”

“We could still throw a lavish Asgardian ceremony on their return.” Frigga huffed at Odin’s scoff. “Come now, it would be a way to show our support of their union, and perhaps it would go a short way to fix things between you and Loki. It would show your love.”

“He does not wish for my love,” murmured Odin.

“If I move my head from your breast, will I not see tears in your eyes? No, my love, you cannot lie to one that is the other half to your soul. You may never fully support this union between them, but that is solely as you grieve for a son you have lost, which is an emotion I can understand very well. I grieve for Loki, too, but we both know he is not yet lost.”

Magni let out a loud wail from the crib. Odin winced, especially as it triggered Móði in turn, so that both children screamed out as if in stereo sound, and – as he groaned and dropped his head onto the pillow – Frigga chuckled and placed a kiss to his cheek. The bed dipped as she crawled over to the other side, only to go to Magni’s side and lift him from his crib, and he soon softened into small sobs as she returned to the bed, lying beside Odin with Magni on her chest. The cries quietened while the wind continued to howl from outside.

“He has chosen to disobey my laws,” continued Odin. “He has chosen to marry without his father present. He has chosen to turn to blood for support over familial ties. I think it clear that he has no respect or love for me, but simply seeks to abuse my trust for his own ends.”

“And yet you shall love him unconditionally regardless.”

Odin looked to Móði and stroked at his cheek, before Móði took his finger and chewed on it with mostly gums and soft lips, and – with a loud laugh – he caught the attention of Móði who looked up with the curious eyes of his father. The warmth that washed over him brought back memories of years long lost . . . events half-remembered . . . he looked to Frigga beside him with eyes blurred with tears and confessed in a quiet voice:

“I shall love him regardless.”


	37. Chapter 37

“Loki, are you hurt?”

Thor marched toward the table. He noted it strewn with various papers and contracts, while a tall throne sat not far away adorned with furs, and – as his eyes briefly took in his surroundings with a half-narrowed gaze – he noted the area to be a meeting room. The guards stood on either side of the door, with hands shaped into iced weapons. Thor clenched his fists and let out a hiss of breath through flared nostrils. They remained still.   

He strode to the window where Loki stood, and – giving him no time to react – quickly threw his arms around Loki and pulled him close, so much so that the leather of his coat squeaked under his arms and Loki spluttered out a choked sound. Thor pulled back just enough to place warm hands on cold cheeks. He let his eyes run over every inch of Loki, as he memorised every article of clothing and every inch of skin, and he gnawed at his lip until Loki sighed and reached up to take a hold of his wrists in a light hold. Loki whispered:

“I was treated quite well, Thor.”

Thor let out a long sigh. He pressed his forehead to Loki’s, relishing in the coldness as the indentations provided a light pressure in turn, and breathed deep as Loki chuckled and gently pulled away with a smirk to his full lips. They stood in silence for a few seconds, allowing Thor to slow his racing heart and run a hand through his hair, while Loki headed over to the large table and took a seat at the far side. He threw himself down with little grace, as he sat with legs parted and hands tented before him as he slouched down.

The guards kept their eyes straight ahead, never once did they deviate their gaze, but Thor knew – as he moved beside Loki and knelt at his side – that the guards and servants heard everything, enough that there was no such thing as a ‘private’ conversation in their presence. He leaned in Loki’s personal space. He pressed so close to Loki’s ear that black hair tickled at his lips, while he felt Loki’s shudder at his breath against him. Thor begged:

“We must leave at once.”

“We must?” Loki rolled his eyes. “I have negotiated a solution that suits all, but you followed me all the way into the depths of Jotunheim to tell me that my hard work was all for nought? Ah, for shame, Brother. You would spit on the offer of a king that would allow us to wed? I thought that this is what you wanted? Well, if you would rather just _leave_ –”

“I am in no mood for games, Loki! Býleistr informed me that you have agreed Móði shall be Helblindi’s heir in exchange for this marriage? He expects me to sign such a contract before our union shall take place! There is a great deal to discuss before we can agree.”

“So you would have us leave? Helblindi will not allow that.”

“Then we leave by force or through secret means.”

Loki sighed and waved a hand to a chair. Thor pursed his lips, as he gritted his teeth until a sharp ache appeared in his jaw, and – with a hiss of breath – he climbed to his feet and threw himself onto the chair with a loud thud of armour on ice and stone. The ice was far from comfortable, enough that he feared the weeks spent with Móði cast away with nothing but white snow as far as the eye could see, and he brought his hands to his lips in an attempt to breathe life into them. Loki signalled to the guards, as he said in a low voice:

“Thor, you need to be reasonable.”

The guard moved to pour water into two stone cups; Thor quirked an eyebrow, as he looked between Loki and the guard in silent question, and yet – even as the man performed the job of a servant – no one said a word as he served the water with little expression. Thor reached out and took a sip of water. The guard returned to his post, even as Thor sniffed and quirked an eyebrow as the odd taste, and yet Loki gulped down his glass as Thor asked:

“Did you think this through, Loki?”

“Of course,” spat Loki.

“Helblindi wishes for time every year with Móði,” said Thor. “This may be agreeable now, but Father is not long for this world! I will be unable to supervise him on such visits, but I cannot imagine you willing to spend time on Jotunheim. Who do we send? Sif? Hogun? That is not to mention what happens should Móði be unwilling to rule –”

“Then he shall abdicate.” Loki shrugged and glared at Thor. “We can work out the conditions and details later . . . as a _married_ couple. I can assure you that nothing in the contract harms Móði in any way or sacrifices our rights as his parents. What other option is there?”

“We could convince Father to legalise –”

“– our union without disowning me?” Loki rolled his eyes. “I am _already_ disowned, Thor! I am no fool, but neither should you be as our future ruler. A king may be able to control the law . . . issue forth new decrees, repeal the old, change what is unwanted . . . but a king must be consistent and only act selflessly, as his people must always be paramount. If he were to declare our incestuous union to be legal simply as he wished -? He would be a dictator.”

Thor stared down into the cup. He saw his reflection in the pure waters, where ever flaw and feature appeared magnified by the strange shape of the stone, and he slammed the cup down onto the table with a loud crash of noise. The water spilled over the sides, leaving subtle stains on a few of the documents. Thor half-smiled and touched on a family tree that marked his place as Loki’s biological cousin, only to frown to realise that – at least in such a realm – their brotherhood was considered non-existent to all. He threw himself back in his chair.  

“Thor?” Loki sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Our people would question why it was legal for us, while it was illegal for them. They would still consider it to be incest. They would cease to respect laws that could change on a whim. It would spiral out until one small splash became a large ripple, until we risked an outright civil war. Our kingdom is divided as things stand, but to be disowned allows for a legitimate union. That is that.”

“Are you even ready to be wed?” Thor asked. “I expected my wedding day to be a celebration to end all celebrations! I expected to have the blessing of the Allfather, while Mother smiled and wept with joy, and to have our people congregate _en masse_ , as they witnessed the heir apparent commit to one to whom he adored above all else.”

“And you expected all that with _me_? Be glad we have even this.”

Thor frowned. He half-parted his lips, but his half-formed criticism remained forever silenced, as – even as he angled his body to Loki with index finger pointed in his direction – the doors to the meeting room were thrown open. Helblindi entered. The rich furs about his body were regal and formal, almost befitting an Asgardian royal, but they marked him as something ‘other’ from his Jotun guards. He held a folder in his hands, as he smiled to Thor and half-bowed in a way that caused his black hair to fall and shield his face.

Thor stood to greet Helblindi, but Loki shot out a firm hand. The blue digits wrapped around his wrist, forcing him to stay in place with sheer strength, and those red eyes looked to him with a narrowed gaze and a shimmer of unshed tears. Helblindi continued to smile from the doorway, as he watched them with an impassive gaze, but the light that shone behind him cast dark shadows about his face, even as Loki asked in a quiet voice:

“Do you consent to this?”

“What choice do I have, Loki?”

Helblindi marched forward without a word. He slid out a piece of paper from the folder, which – with a smile that brought crinkles to the corners of his eyes – was place before Thor with a flourish that irked Thor more than any words. Every muscle in his body tensed, as he slowly read through the contract and verified its contents, and he clenched his hands so tightly that he could feel crescent-shaped cuts appear on his palms. Thor flared his nostrils.

He snatched a pen from Helblindi’s outstretched hand, only to sign his name just below Loki’s on the pale paper, and – as if mocking him – Helblindi snatched back the contact with the exact strength and gesture that Thor employed, only to look back with mock surprise when Thor glared in his direction. Helblindi blew the ink dry, while keeping his eyes locked on Thor, only to slide it back into the folder and march away without a single word. Thor watched as he left through the open doors and they slammed shut behind him.

Loki sighed and stood once more. Thor watched as he cricked his back and stretched his limbs, bending in such a way that would have brought arousal at any other time, but instead Thor could only continue to stare at the doors with the taste of iron flooding his mouth. Loki came beside him and placed a hand chastely on his shoulder, almost as if they were brothers once more and not betrothed to be wed. Thor asked in a quiet and firm voice:

“What does a Jotun ceremony entail?”

“Honestly?” Loki shrugged. “I half-expect a virgin sacrifice, a public consummation, and several drunken brawls from barbarians who have as much sense as literacy skills. So . . . no different from an evening with your friends, really. Well, maybe a _little_ more civilised.”

Thor laughed despite the situation. He shoved Loki hard by the shoulder, knocking him back a step, and saw how Loki barely stifled a laugh with trembling lips pressed into a line, and – as they looked to one another – Thor blinked away tears to see nothing had changed. Loki drew in a deep breath and reached out for his hand, before he gently led him to the doors that were opened out before them by guards that bowed deep and kept their eyes low.

Loki led Thor through an intricate series of hallways, as he had long since memorised their patterns, and the speed he moved was a shame as Thor’s eyes roved over thousands of works of art crammed into such small spaces. They stopped before two doors so tall as to tower above any Jotun, while so wide that a long line of men could march in together, and – as the opened by Loki’s hand – a hall unlike any other was revealed. The ceiling was a large dome made of glass, looking out onto a black sky, while the walls were etched from pure ice.

It was clearly a ceremonial room. The corners bore stone statues of the Jotunheim founders, while the room itself was remarkably empty save for a small dais that bore a throne made of gold and silver and many jewels, clearly a display of Jotunheim’s wealth from earlier days, as such precious metals were not bought or bartered in millennia. A small pillar stood before the dais, where a pewter goblet stood empty and barren on its stone surface. Two nobles took Thor and Loki and stood them on either side of the goblet. Helblindi appeared at the dais.

Helblindi – clad in formal furs – sat on the golden throne. The height of the dais cast him high above Thor and Loki, who stood opposite one another with curious glances to the Jotun king. No words were spoken. Helblindi raised a scarred hand. Býleistr appeared through the doors, only to take a spot between Loki and Thor and opposite the throne. It created a square formation with Helblindi prominent. The two nobles stood on the edges, as Loki asked:

“Who are these people present?”

Býleistr rolled his eyes and crossed arms over his chest. Thor watched him with a raised eyebrow, as he noted that this one of the three brothers was most Jotun in nature, enough that he could easily be mistaken as any other Jotun were it not for his height. There were many scars on his body, borne from battle, and he locked eyes with Helblindi as if to challenge him, but Helblindi simply locked his gaze back with a smirk, staring him down even as he replied to Loki. It created a tense atmosphere, broken only by the sarcastic question:

“I assumed you wanted a _legitimate_ wedding, correct?”

“That would be a correct,” muttered Loki.

“We simply require four witnesses,” explained Helblindi. “There must be one representative from each bloodline; I am here to bear witness for Loki, while Býleistr shall bear witness for Thor. You can excuse us, Prince Thor, but we struggled to find any others of your bloodline with the Bifrost currently closed. You would not object to your cousin, would you?”

“And the other two Jotuns?”

Helblindi let his mouth gape open, as he looked with wide eyes to each far side of the room, and – as he feigned a gasp and raised a hand to his chest – he abruptly dropped the act of and laughed with a gentle sound, even as he collapsed back against the throne and waved a hand dismissively in the air with a shrug. Thor smiled. He could see the trickster nature of Loki, but equally he could see a darkness that ran deeper, only hidden by smiles and jokes and a foolish nature. Thor made a mental note to beware Helblindi in future negotiations.

“Two impartial observers,” said Helblindi.

“This is all that is needed?”

“Aside from the ceremony itself, yes.” Helblindi sat upright with perfect posture. “Our people often conduct this ceremony in private, as a bonding between two souls, as – like I have already explained – marriage is merely a political or legal necessity, bearing forth a great weight of responsibility and with many dangerous risks. They say marriage is thus far more common among our lower classes, while our royalty often seeks to shirk such a burden.

“I imagine that will bring you comfort, Loki. Our father committed this ceremony in private, as proof to our gods of his dedication to our mother, and – while he honoured her always – he saw the risks of a political union and forewent making it legally-binding with witnesses and contracts to prove such a union. You are unlike him in this respect. Well done.”

“We sign contracts to prove we lay witness,” said Býleistr. “You only need those four contracts and your wedding mark to prove this wedding legitimate under the eyes of our law, and it’s a rather quick ceremony when the participants cease to ask questions.”

“Oh, I rather like the questions,” teased Helblindi. “Makes it less a bore.”

“Do not make light of such a serious union of souls.”

Helblindi raised his hands in mock surrender; Býleistr continued to glare ahead, eyes fixated on Helblindi with such intensity that Thor tensed every muscle in his body, and he became deathly aware of Mjölnir that hung from his hip. He watched Býleistr with a narrowed gaze, especially when that blue hand reached for a strangely-shaped dagger hidden in the hilt of his leather skirt, and – for a cold moment – he feared that this may even be an assassination plot on a king otherwise innocent. Thor swallowed hard and asked:

“How do we begin?”

Býleistr ripped the dagger from its hilt. The steel shone from the light of the moon above, emphasising a snake-like blade that curved in an impractical fashion, while the runes etched into its side were darkened by centuries of rust and blood. Thor jumped back instinctively; his hand raced to Mjölnir’s leather-clad handle, but – as his heart raced and his free hand clenched into a fist – Býleistr flipped the blade and held it in Thor’s direction.

Thor slowly stepped back to his place opposite Loki, as he reached out and took the cold hilt from those blue hands, and he held the dagger before him with a squinted observation, turning it in the moonlight to try and decipher the runes written on its surface. It was difficult to discern the meaning from so far ago . . . _‘from pain we prove our sacrifice’_. . . the leathers stripped around the hilt were red and blue, while the tip looked so pointed as to easily rend flesh from bone. He nearly jumped when he head Helblindi said in a low voice:

“You must slice into the palm of your hand.”

“You are kidding?” Thor asked.

“No,” said Helblindi. “You must bleed into the cup, enough to form a small stream, and then you must keep your hand held above the cup. The words you must utter are simple, as any variation will do so long as the meaning is kept clear: ‘I vow to remain faithful and keep fidelity to my beloved’. Loki shall then do the same. Clasp your hands together when done.”

“This is all that is needed?” Thor furrowed his brow. “You require no vows? You require no one to walk around the sacred flames with hands clasped together in cloth? You require no hymns or songs from the crowds? This is it? Shared blood and no more?”

“Well, I decided against the hymns. Býleistr can’t keep a key.”

“You did not get your humour from Laufey . . .”

Thor tried to slow his racing heart. He breathed fast and shallow, as he brought the blade to his palm and pressed its tip to his flesh, and – with closed eyes and a trembling grasp – he placed his hands over the cup and slashed deep. Thor nearly dropped the blade, but Loki’s hand shot out to support him and stopped it from clattering to the floor. He swore as the pain burned into his palm. The blood soon poured, dripping steadily into the pewter goblet, while Loki took the dagger from his hand and prepared to cut into his palm in turn.

“Last chance to back out,” teased Thor.

“You forgot to say your ‘vows’, Thor. Do pay attention.”

A dark blush overcame Thor. Loki paused with dagger ready to make his cut, while Thor glanced to Helblindi and saw how he watched with an expression caught between sadness and happiness, as if a thousand emotions played through his heart at once. Thor bit into his lip, as he looked back to Loki and saw the man that he pledged his life to protect. He saw their future and their past rolled into one. He drew in a deep breath and said:

“I swear to always be faithful and true to you, Loki.”

Loki smiled, as he dug the blade against his palm. It cut deep and fast, leaving a clean cut that would leave only a thin slither of a scar once healed, and – as he let his blood drip into the goblet – he sighed with his head cocked to the side. The blade was handed back to Býleistr, although Thor noted how Býleistr gazed at it for a long few seconds before sheathing it once again, and finally Loki shrugged and said in casual and cold words:

“I promise not to cheat on you, as well as to support you.”

“That was hardly worded in a romantic manner.”

“Then I swear to love you until my dying breath,” said Loki. “Even should you die first, I will take no other to our marital bed, for you are my world and my soul! You are my first thought when I awake. You are the last thought when I sleep. Oh, Thor, I am honoured to have you as a husband and shall strive to make every day as blessed as today.”

“Remind me again why I marry you, Loki,” muttered Thor.

“Well, I hear I’m _awfully_ good in bed, for one thing.”

Thor laughed and snatched at Loki’s hand. Loki smiled back, as they locked eyes and pressed the wounds together, and – as the familiar sting gave way into a strange sensation of mixed blood – they locked eyes and squeezed at each other’s hands. The blood ran between their palms, warm and sticky and wet, and the dripping slowly stopped as pressure was applied to the wounds. There was the sound of clapping from those around them, while Helblindi let out a shuddered breath and dabbed at his eye with his thumb. He appeared emotional.

“Is that all?” Thor asked. “Are we wed?”

Helblindi shrugged as the two nobles came to stand before the dais, along with Býleistr in the centre of the two, and – as each one lay out a sheet of paper onto the dais – they knelt down to sign the contracts that would mark them as witnesses to the ceremony. They finished before handing their papers to Helblindi, who took them and signed each of them in turn, along with a fourth given to him by Býleistr, as he muttered out:

“Traditionally, the blood is drunk at this stage.”

Thor paled and held tighter to Loki. He looked down to the blood they merged and mingled in the goblet, likely still warm and quickly congealing, and he knew that it would need to be warmed once it grew cold, as he learnt from a tribe on some distant planet that relied on animal blood as a key part of their recipes. Loki pulled his hand away and wrapped it with a handkerchief, before he rounded the pedestal and wrapped Thor’s hand after, even as he seemingly ignored the tremble and the slight sway to his person. Thor murmured:

“You drink the collected blood?”

“It is not a required part of the _legal_ binding,” added Helblindi. “It is only required for the _spiritual_ binding of two souls, which is why I chose to forgo mentioning such a tradition, as I did not think that an Asgardian would seek to drink the blood of another. Even today, many of our men choose to forgo this one act, as they see it an outdated custom.”

“I have spent too many years with Loki.” Thor clenched his wounded fist. “You seek to trick me into drinking with reverse psychology, as if by downplaying the nature of the ceremony that you may somehow convince me to prove you of its worth.”

“It is _hardly_ a trick if you _know_ it a trick.”

“And would you drink in my situation? Do you consider it ‘outdated’?”

Helblindi kept his head low, but he looked up with a quirked eyebrow. The shadows about his face darkened every line, while his nostrils flared with a hiss of breath, and – with a roll of his eyes – he returned to the contracts and talked in a low voice with Býleistr. Thor clenched at his fist, as he waited an answer that never seemed to come. The silence frustrated him. He tensed until the muscles on his arms bulged, as Loki spat out in a cold voice:  

“Oh, for goodness’ sake, Thor.”

Loki snatched at the goblet with his good hand. Thor contorted his face, as he stepped away from Loki, and yet Loki raised the goblet in a mock salute, before he placed the rim to his lips and sipped from the blood. A wave of nausea washed through Thor, as his stomach churned and bile rose to the back of his throat. Loki lowered the goblet and licked at reddened lips. Thor groaned and rolled his eyes, before he snatched at the goblet.

The blood was still fresh and wet, while Thor noticed Helblindi’s eyes locked on him, and – with a deep breath and eyes screwed shut – he brought the goblet to his mouth and downed the remainder of the blood. It tasted bitter and metallic, while unnaturally thick and still warm, and he retched and gagged as he dropped the goblet to the floor with a loud clatter. He heard the words ‘spoiled princess’ muttered by Býleistr who snatched at the goblet and marched out of the hall, with both nobles in tow. Helblindi chuckled and reclined back in his throne.

“Not _so_ outdated, it seems,” teased Helblindi.

“I require mead to wash away the taste,” complained Thor.

“There shall be plenty of that to come.” Helblindi clapped his hands together. “I insist that you spend the next week here! Loki’s room would be perfect for you both; I have had it redecorated since the days it existed as a nursery, so it should suit all your needs, and – traditionally – celebrations continue for seven full nights. It would be an honour.”

“You redecorated a room for me?” Loki rolled his eyes. “We will remain here for the duration of the night, but we must go first thing tomorrow morning. The Bifrost will be open at that time; word will have spread in a matter of hours across the Nine Realms, as such our father will be aware of this union and we must speak with him on the matter, and I would like to celebrate with family and friends, Helblindi. We are nought but strangers here.”

“Well, I suppose we _could_ assign it to Móði instead. It is adjacent to my rooms, which would make it convenient to attend to such a young child, and we have left many of Loki’s toys and ornaments – chosen by Mother herself – as decorative pieces. It would not go to waste.”

“It’s almost as if you had that planned from the start.”

“Isn’t it just? A simple chance of luck, though.”

Loki glared toward Helblindi, who stood with a deep bow. The silence between them was punctuated only by Thor’s constant coughs and gargles, along with the fast beats of his heart that pounded in his ears, and he paced back and forth while Loki stood with hands clenched at his sides. Thor stopped to see how Helblindi and Loki glared at one another, each one with lips pursed into a thin line, only there was a smirk to Helblindi . . . subtle, but almost obvious when one saw how his cheeks flushed and eyes twinkled. Thor said with a sigh:

“Come, Loki. Let us rest.”

He reached out to drape an arm around Loki’s waist, as he steered him around to face the door, and – as he glanced over his shoulder – he saw how Helblindi was barely restraining laughter at his prods toward Loki, as well as how Loki almost rose to the bait. Thor led Loki away, who soon relaxed against him and leaned into his touch, and for the first time . . . Thor smiled through tears to realise they were officially wed. No one could tear them apart.

A lifetime together awaited them.


	38. Chapter 38

“Hello, Mother.”

Frigga looked with wide eyes to Loki. Magni cried from beside her, as she sat with legs folded beneath her on the play-mat, and – as he dropped his wooden horse – his tiny hands opened and closed into tiny fists, as he reached out for the father he so missed. It was enough to bring tears to her eyes. Loki strode across the lounge with a sigh, before he swept Magni into his arms and swung him around with a half-forced smile. Magni laughed.

It was easy to believe that nothing had changed.

The only sign of any lasting effects were the bandages on Loki’s left hand, where they were stained red where cloth met palm, and – even as they so need changing – he showed no sign of pain or displeasure as he clasped Magni to his chest. Magni strove to reach for his black hair, where he pulled until Loki let out a series of sound . . . _‘ah, ah, ah, that hurts, little one’_. . . it was almost magical to watch them interact, while the sun shone through the open balcony doors and cast long shadows over the floor where Móði still played.

Thor entered not long after, although he avoided eye-contact. He clung to the corners of the room as if he sought not to be seen, while he helped himself to a table of food not far from the wall, and – with a small wince – he bent to pick from the various cooked meats. Frigga stood and reached for Móði, but he whined any time her hands came near him, as if to warn her away, and she smiled to see how he rolled over and over with plush toy in hands.

“Móði has grown so playful,” said Frigga. “I believe he shall be quite the warrior; Thor was so much the same way at his age, always striving for independence and exploring his environment, until one day – with my back turned for one moment – he crawled to the balcony and pushed his head through the rails. It took some time to release him.”

“I am glad to hear that,” said Loki. “I am told too often that because he looks like me that he must act like me, but I fear no one ever believes me when I say his _seiðr_ is weak and his nature too introverted. Still, it is always _my_ arms that he is delivered.”

“At least now you have a husband to share that burden.”

“Indeed, Mother. Have I made you proud?”

Frigga frowned at the hint of sarcasm. The words lingered in the air, while Loki bounced Magni and cooed snatches of some old prayer, and – as Frigga pursed her lips and cast him a narrowed look – she took the corners of the play-mat and slid it across the room. Móði laughed at being dragged along with his toys and picture books, but that soon stopped when she carefully placed the blanket and babe between the four sofas. He caught scent of some nearby flowers and sneezed until laughter turned to cries. Frigga murmured:  

“Please, do not make this worse.”

“Define worse.”

Frigga rolled her eyes, as she swept across the room. The potted plant was taken in hand, only to be guided out to the main doors and placed haphazardly in the hallway, and – as she closed the doors again – she noted how Thor walked with a slight limp to Móði. He hissed and swore to sweep Móði into his arms, before he walked with a blush back to the side of the room where the breakfast table stood still laid with various types of cuisine.

The doors opened once again. Odin strode forward with head low and hands clasped behind his back, and – without a word – he sat on centre of one of the sofas, so that only the others were left available for usage. Loki sat perched on the far left sofa, where he tried to ease Magni onto the play-mat, and constantly was forced to lift him back once more, as tiny lungs let out loud wails at the perceived abandonment. Frigga sat on the floor opposite Loki with a chuckle, while Odin called out to Thor with a deep voice and a wave of his hand:

“You may sit.”

Thor blushed and held Móði tight against him. Frigga looked away, while she reached over to Loki for Magni, and – with a loud yelp of joy – Magni reached back for her and contented himself with clinging to her skirts and resting his head on her lap. It was time for their nap, but Thor continued to lean against the wall with a shrug, as he patted Móði’s back with his healthy hand. The bandages on the injured palm were fresh and only mildly spotted with blood, but it reminded Frigga to make sure both sons were checked over by the healers.

“I would rather stand,” said Thor.

“I intended for this to be a family discussion,” chided Odin. “I wish for us to sit together as equals, without any one above any other, as such I shall ask you again: sit, Thor. I would talk with you face-to-face as men, but that cannot be with you to the sides.”

“I apologise, Father. I may have injured my back.”

“How have you come about such an injury?”

Odin cast a narrowed gaze at Thor. The lines about his face deepened, enough – as Frigga stroked at Magni’s hair – to recognise that he doubted no harm had befallen his sons, and already the air prickled with his natural seiðr. Frigga looked to Loki who reclined with a smirk, even as he rubbed at his mouth to hide his childish smile, and yet Thor remained silent as he tended to Móði and sought to ease him into a sleep. Loki interrupted with:

“Well, it was our wedding night.”

The reaction was instantaneous. Thor flushed a deep shade of red, before he snatched a wine-stopper from the breakfast table beside him, and threw it with full force directly at Loki, who – with a loud laugh – dove to his side and caught the stopper with a thrown hand. He waved it in Thor’s direction with blown kiss and a wink, only for Thor to reach for an apple. Thor was stopped only by a loud snarl from Odin. It forced him to throw the apple back with a clatter of bowls and a spilling of some fruit, as Odin turned to Loki and ordered:

“Do not provoke your brother, Loki.”

“We are no longer brothers.”

“Aye, that much is true.” Odin winced. “In that case I will ask you not to provoke your _husband_ , as it is the duty of a spouse to support and strengthen their partner, which is a task not well achieved by childish teasing and bickering. Helblindi sent word of your union once the Bifrost was reopened this morning, as such I expect you to act the married couple.”

“As opposed to acting like a family?”

“I shall be honest with you, Loki. I still very much consider you my son, which is why I shall never fully condone or support this incestuous union, but I am not angry with your actions so much as I am . . . disappointed. You took matters into your own hands. Did you have so little faith in your king and father that I could have negotiated you a union, perhaps without you ever having to set foot upon Jotunheim? Will you undermine Thor as you have me?”

Loki kept quiet. He parted his legs and held his hands between them, while he picked at the bloody bandages with a pout of his lips, and soon – with a hiss of breath – he worked at undoing them while ignoring the lingering questions. The sun that streamed through the windows warmed his skin, enough that a slight sweat broke over his brow, and it was exacerbated by sitting in the midst of the rays, even as Móði remained in the shade with small murmurs from Thor’s side. Loki left his bandages half-on and half-off.  

“I wanted to speak to you both to give you fair warning,” said Odin. “You are both newlyweds; you will be unused to making the compromises and sacrifices necessary to maintain your union, while those closest to you will have many objections to a marriage between siblings, and while we support you unconditionally on this matter -? I do not wish for you to make the same mistakes that I made during your youths.

“We will hold a formal Asgardian ceremony for you in a week’s time, once the Jotun festivities have been completed, but – in that time – I wish for you both to consider your new responsibilities and duties towards each other and our realm. I do not trust Loki’s intentions, but I do not doubt he will prove to be an excellent consort over time.”

“Our primary concern is that you will fight,” added Frigga. “We are also concerned that you may parent your children too differently, allowing one to feel more loved than the other, and this will only be compounded by a lack of communication as a married couple.”

“It will be what destroys the love you have for each other.”

Odin paled and looked toward Frigga. It was difficult to meet his gaze, as they were both too aware of the difficulties of marriage, and yet – as she met his eyes – warmth flooded through her bones and brought a smile to her cheeks. Frigga stroked at Magni’s blond locks, while he slept with little sighs as he snored much too similar to Odin and Thor, both heavy in breath and yet never so loud as to disturb her sleep in turn. Odin reached out a hand midway to her, while she reached back with a free hand to touch at his fingertips with a smile.

Thor chuckled from across the room, until he walked over to them. The sound of his footsteps echoed about, while he pressed Móði ever closer to his chest, and – with an obvious grimace of pain – slowly lowered himself between Frigga and Loki, while sitting on the floor opposite Odin with a nod of acknowledgement. He pulled a white cushion from the sofa, so that he could place Móði on the play-mat before him and rest his head on something soft.

They sat in relative silence, as the only sounds were that of Loki undoing his bandages, and soon the very last piece of fabric fell onto a pile by his side. He dropped the wine-stopped onto them. Frigga watched as he flexed at his hand, but winced to see a crusted cut that marred his blue skin and left a prominent red mark, and there was no doubt in her mind that it would scar and leave a mark forever more. Thor pursed at his lips, as he stroked Móði’s cheek and looked to Odin to ask in a serious and quiet voice:

“You think us bad parents?”

“No, Thor,” said Odin. “I think you remarkable parents, but can you truly say the same of _your_ parents in turn? We did what we thought was best; I loved you both, but I found it easier to relate to you as a person, while we had much more in common, and Frigga – ever closer with Loki, ever striving to make him feel loved to compensate for his adoption – gravitated to your brother and focussed her attention upon him. It created a rivalry between you.”

“We fear it also alienated you both,” admitted Frigga. “It is no secret that Loki strives for the attention of your father, desperate for acknowledgement and acceptance, and that he believes himself to be unloved despite this not being the case. I also fear I spoiled you, never allowing either of you to be punished, which added to your arrogance and spontaneity.”

“You wish for us to treat Móði and Magni as equals.” Thor let out a low breath. “We have done all we can to learn from your mistakes; we alternate in who watches each child, while making sure both live by the exact same set of rules. We love both as equals.”

“But you will not always have equal opinions.”

“Indeed,” said Odin. “What shall happen when you disagree on the age of which they can consent? What if you disagree on the partners they bring home? What if Móði wishes to live with the Jotuns or Magni finds comfort with one from Midgard? Ah, I see already on your faces that you think very differently on such matters. How will you resolve these issues?”

Thor knitted his brow together with a shake of his head, only to look towards Loki and see the curl of a lip in outright disgust, and Frigga – with a lowering of her head and a sigh – knew that Loki would bear the same prejudices as Odin. Frigga looked to Magni and Móði before her, both bearing so many resemblances to their parents at already such a young age, and she could only look to Odin with a pleading expression, desperate for some hope that their past mistakes would not be repeated. Thor sighed and issued an accusation:

“You think us incapable of compromise.”

Odin laughed. The sun caught him from behind, creating dark shadows about his face that aged him further than his years, and – as he lowered his head – black circles appeared beneath his eyes that only added to the sense of distance. He opened his eyes to look directly across the clearing to Thor, ignoring Frigga and the two boys on the play-mat, and when he spoke it was to Thor and Thor alone, even as Loki picked at his wound. Odin spat:

“I _know_ you incapable of compromise.”

“What your father _means_ ,” said Frigga, “is that you both still act as brothers. Loki, you run from your emotions and put on an act to keep Thor at a distance, only to then be hurt when Thor calls your bluff on such matters. Thor, you either lash out or seek to manipulate Loki in turn, as I have recently noticed. These are not good coping mechanisms for a marriage.”

“You may run from problems now,” said Odin. “It may be a nuisance to find one has used your favourite book for a coaster, but it is not a life-changing event. If you react to serious problems with such immaturity, you may drive a wedge between each other . . . your mother and I very nearly ceased to survive some events in our lives, but – through the worst – we were able to converse with one another, trust in one another, and listen to one another.”

“There was no judgement and no twisting of words.”

“I will always love you both, my sons,” swore Odin. “It is why I offer you this last piece of fatherly advice, Loki, before I must accept your role as my son-in-law. You must talk to one another with complete truthfulness, never wearing a mask as you do to others, and realise that sometimes vulnerability is your greatest strength. You cannot compromise or sacrifice with children, especially as you will both consider your parenting styles ‘right’.

“Instead, find new ways and forge a new path together. Do not seek for some middle ground, but find a method that is entirely shared and that both can comfortably walk, without any resentment or sense of competition. I shall not always be here to discipline, while your mother shall not always be here to nurture . . . one day, you shall have no mediators.”

“You have both grown so much. Do not stagnate now.”

Loki continued to stare at his hand, while he picked at the scab with a scowl, and Frigga – with a narrowed gaze and a hiss of breath – glared at him until he caught her gaze and flushed dark red, placing his hands flat on his thighs. There was already a spot of blood on the leather of his trousers, as he reopened the wound without truly realising the extent of his actions, and she feared that old habits had yet to die, so that he would seek to hurt himself for perceived flaws that were in fact his greatest strengths. Loki looked to Odin and asked:

“Will you still allow me to call your ‘father’?”

“Aye, so long as you still refer to Frigga as ‘mother’.”

Odin smiled and looked toward Frigga; the tears formed in her eyes without intent, as her eyes fell on Loki with a weak smile in turn, and – as Loki winced and looked away, folding his arms in that usual desire to separate himself from genuine emotion – he simply shrugged and nodded in acknowledgement of the request. Frigga laughed and whispered a simple promise in turn. . . _‘I will always love you, my son’_. . . a smile pulled at the corner of Loki’s lips despite how he strove to remain so cold. Odin shook his head and swore:

“Loki Laufeyson, you will forever be an Asgardian citizen.”

“You would allow me to remain a citizen?”

“Your skin may be that of a Jotun, but your heart is that of an Asgardian.” Odin nodded toward Loki and sat straight. “I may not approve of your actions, but I cannot deny that I see myself in you and that you even remind me of a sister long lost. You are an Asgardian through and through, so much so that I will not deny you what is owed.”

“Thank you, Father,” whispered Loki. “I am eternally grateful.”

“Have you learnt nothing?” Thor chastised.

The room grew cold. Frigga looked to Thor and saw how he held onto both of Móði’s hands, as tiny blue fingers clasped around his thumbs and Thor stretched out his finger to stroke on a cheek marked with Jotun patterns, and – as Thor looked between Loki and Odin – she caught the frown to his brow and the tension to his eyes. There was a sparkle in the air, as if his natural _seiðr_ raged without his control, and she feared then that Mjölnir was too much a crutch, as his cheeks turned red and he spat out in a barely-restrained voice:

“You make it sound shameful to be a Jotun!”

Loki scoffed, as he leaned forward with a creak of leather. He cast his eyes on Magni who slept on Frigga’s lap, as he smiled and lifted a stray blanket and handed it to her, and – as she swaddled Magni with great expertise – he sank back into the sofa with a shrug. Frigga lifted Magni high against her chest, until Loki gnawed at his lip and gestured for her to pass Magni to him, before he took his son with a wide smile and said in a quiet voice:

“It is shameful, Thor.”

“You would be ashamed of our son?” Thor shook his head. “You still view Fárbauti as promiscuous, with Asgardian judgement, even as you learn that she took Jotun vows and that Laufey was her one and only, just as I am yours. You still long to call yours ‘Odinson’ and call him ‘Father’, even as you learn that Jotuns cherish blood ties over all else, you –”

“Stop it, Thor,” snapped Loki. “I mean it.”

“No, Loki. You _swore_ a legally binding contract to Helblindi. You swore that Móði would be educated on Jotun ways, while he would spend time each year on Jotunheim, and he would one day be ruler of Jotunheim. Do you not think he will emulate you? Do you not think he will see your self-hatred and think that hatred of him? I will not let our son be surrounded by such talk about how Asgardians are so superior. Are you not proof that blood is meaningless?”

“Ah, is this to be the first fight that Father so warned us about?” Loki teased. “What middle road shall we take here? Hmm, perhaps I can swear to never mention Jotunheim before our son. I will say nothing, either good or bad. My lips may as well be sewn shut. I may as well be muzzled. Will this not suit you? Móði will not internalise such hatred from me.”

“This is a serious matter, Loki. We must discuss the issue.”

“What is there to discuss, Thor?”

Thor said nothing in response. He stood quickly with Móði in arms, even as Móði stirred and sneezed at some scent blown in from the balcony, and turned his back on Loki as he walked slowly from the clearing between the sofas toward the doors. Frigga said nothing, even as she moved to sit beside Odin and placed her hands on his arm, as she leaned into his personal space and silently pleaded for him to intervene. He kept silence, even as Thor spat:

“I will not do this before our parents.”

“Why do this at all?”

No more words were exchanged, even as Frigga gripped at Odin’s arm. Thor marched towards the doors and flung them open with such strength that they snapped back, so that – as he left the room – they left indents on the plastered walls and slammed shut behind him, with the noise causing Magni to scream in pain as his sensitive ears were harmed by the noise. Loki cursed and stood to rock Magni with better ease, while he bounced back and forth with feigned smiles and overly-sweet compliments, but it did little to ease him. Odin muttered:

“You are pushing Thor away, Loki.”

Loki winced and cradled Magni ever closer. Frigga noticed that he even cocked his head to the side, letting his locks of hair fall before Magni, and that – with small grimaces of pain – he allowed Magni to yank at his hair with giggles and gurgles. Odin sighed and took Frigga’s hands from his arm, before he brought them to his lips with a chaste kiss, and then held them on his lap while he looked to Loki with a stern and focussed stare.

“Go to him,” said Odin. “He is your husband.”

“You reacted as a brother,” Frigga observed. “Thor puts his sons before all else, just as you put Móði and Magni before all else, and when you act so flippant . . . when you push him away to protect yourself . . . he feels his concerns are not heard, so his son is put at risk while his concerns are ignored. Leave here as his brother, but go to him as a husband.”

“Do you think we can truly find middle ground on this issue?”

“You have no choice,” said Odin.

Loki rolled his eyes, while Magni yawned and hugged at him, and – as he started to slowly walk toward the main doors – Frigga noted how Magni gripped at the lapel of his coat, while trying to rest his head on the firm chest beneath, as he desperately sought for sleep. It was difficult to watch him leave, especially as she so feared another argument on the horizon and being unable to mediate their concerns, but Odin was right . . . they needed to learn to communicate without their parents present. Loki left without any further word.

The sudden silence was eerie, especially when the cries and sounds of the children were so prominent in recent days, and Frigga – as she hugged against Odin – sighed in relief to feel his arms around her, as they held her tight and he buried his head into her hair. The sun was warm against her back, while the light flooded the room and brought a momentary pang of pain to her eyes, as she closed them and rested against him. Frigga asked in a whisper:

“Do you think they shall succeed?”

“Why not? We did.”


	39. Chapter 39

Thor collapsed.

He slid down the bed until his head rested on Loki’s stomach; every pulse vibrated against his cheek, while the warm sweat stuck their skin together in an uncomfortable manner, and – with a curse – he tasted come against his lips and realised it now matted his hair. Loki said nothing, but parted his legs wide to allow Thor to rest between. Thor rolled onto his back. He stared at the ceiling with dilated eyes, as he rested his hands and arms on Loki’s legs.

They panted for breath, while Loki fumbled around for a cloth, and – as Thor reached up to lazily take it from his hand – they simply listened to each other breath while hearts raced, and Thor mopped the come and lubrication from his stomach and member. He struggled to sit enough to do the same to Loki in turn, but already the come and lubrication were smeared over a blue skin and a white back, enough that only a bath would cure them of such a mess. It brought a chuckle to Loki’s lips, as Thor muttered complaints and lay back against him.

It was warm in their rooms. The scent of sweat and lubrication was heavy in the air, while the blankets and sheets remained tangled about Thor’s legs, and a cool breeze came from the open balcony doors, as Loki reached down to stroke through Thor’s hair and ran his fingers through messy locks. Thor sighed and reached up for Loki’s other hand. Loki laughed and reached back, so that their hands were clasped over a rapidly beating heart. Thor murmured:

“We cannot solve all our problems with sex.”

“No, but I bet you wish we could.”

“I mean it, Loki.” Thor ran a free hand over soft thighs. “Father was right that we need to communicate better as a couple, else our relationship will be doomed to resentment and game-playing, and I want more than that. I want us to be equals. I want you by my side as my adviser, my friend, and my _husband_. We need to find a solution to the situation with Móði.”

“You were just rutting against me like a wild animal,” chastised Loki. “Do you not think it something of a mood-killer to now with to discuss the children? I would rather discuss the fact you were unable to face being penetrated so soon after our wedding night.”

“There is no damage. You need not worry.”

“So you applied the oils I recommended to ease the discomfort?”

Thor blushed a deep shade of red. He pulled Loki’s hand further down, so that their entwined fingers rested over his face and the scrunch to his eyes, and – as he let out a long groan – he became extremely aware of his naked state. Loki continued to stroke at his hair, while he squeezed his legs together as if to hug Thor with his legs. There was a murmur from across the bedroom, as Magni started to stir from his nap, and music drifted in from some far room, as Odin likely announced to various councils and boards of the new union. Thor muttered:

“You are changing the topic.”

“You are too easily embarrassed by sexual acts.”

Thor rolled his eyes and awkwardly detangled himself from Loki. Loki sighed and reclined, legs pressed together and arms clasped behind his head, until Thor crawled up the bed and threw himself against the mattress with enough force that both men bounced. The sheets were dragged partially with him, providing a minor element of protection from the breeze. It was uncomfortable to lie so close to another. The come grew itchy as it dried, while the air caught at his sweat and chilled his skin, and Thor murmured absently against Loki.

He wrapped his arms around Loki’s waist, while he rested his head over Loki’s chest and listened to his heartbeat loud against his ears. Loki stroked at his hair, as he tangled their legs together and threw his other arm over a muscled back, and Thor remained quiet as he lay in Loki’s embrace. The music grew louder. He caught few lines of a favourite song, while people laughed and talked and milled about in celebration. Thor said with a sigh:

“You were penetrated for the first time just two days previous.”

“You just last night,” quipped Loki.

“I _mean_ to say that things have moved quickly.” Thor flushed red. “We have only just fully begun to explore our sexuality, while we have only just been wed, and we have been thrown into this relationship with so many issues to explore and problems to address. We cannot divorce if this goes awry. I worry . . . I want this to go well, that is all.”

“I understand, Thor, but you –?” Loki winced and shrugged. “I never thought I would overcome our mutual rape, if I am to be honest. I still struggle to process how I can be married to one that so hurt me and that I so hurt in turn, and then . . .”

“Do you not forgive me?”

“I do not know. I simply know that . . . it is difficult to be emotionally vulnerable. Ah, I know you have seen me at my worst . . . you have seen me scream and weep and harm myself . . . it is just that these things -? They come when I reach my breaking point. I know that I hide everything until that point . . . I know that I scheme and repress and obsess . . . I know that these are behaviours that must change, but -? I am _afraid_ , Thor. I am afraid.”

Thor sat upright, as he sought to observe Loki. He saw those lips pursed into a pale line, while he knitted his brow and looked up to Thor with watery eyes, and then – with a loud sigh – he rolled onto his side and stared off into the distance. Thor bit into his lip and crawled behind Loki, so that he could wrap his arms around his waist and pull him flush to his chest. He placed soft kisses to Loki’s neck. He half-smiled to note how it was particularly free from bruises and bite-marks and scratches, but said nothing as he asked:

“What makes you so afraid?”

Loki said nothing at first. It took a long few seconds before he rolled over and draped his arms around Thor’s neck, while he smirked to see the pattern of marks that littered Thor’s body like paint on a canvas, and – as their eyes finally met – Loki winced and buried his head into Thor’s neck with a loud sigh. The breeze blew at the curtains and cast strange shadows about the room, which danced and played about the walls as Loki pleaded:

“Let us take this slow, yes?”

Thor laughed until his body shook. The noise woke Móði, who burst into tears with a high-pitched cry, while Magni simply laughed in turn as if he understood the situation, and – as Thor shook his head with a chuckle, extricating himself from Loki – he saw that Loki wore an expression both contorted and tense, as if he were concentrating with all his might to keep inside some deeper emotions. He was sincere. Thor winced and swallowed back his guilt, as he slowly walked over to their sons and called back with a tremble to his voice:

“You find fucking less intimate than discussion?”

“You do not?” Loki asked.

“No.” Thor smirked. “I remember the damage of your daggers when you stab me, which – so far – has always been clothed and with my full awareness, as such you can imagine how much trust is involved to be naked and weak and distracted before you. You know my heart, so I have nothing to risk on that score. I find discussion much easier.”

“Well, now you know how I feel.”

“Aye, _how_ you feel, but not _why_ you feel.” Thor lifted Móði into his arms. “You say you wish to move slowly? I can move slowly. Let us put all talk of your reasons aside, so that – instead – you only discuss the most basic emotions. Would you be comfortable telling me what you feel about Móði and his heritage? If it becomes too much, change topic.”

“You are giving me permission to change topic?” Loki furrowed his brow. “You loathe when I do that at any other time. Very well . . . I loathe that Móði is a Jotun. I also loathe that his _seiðr_ is so weak. I fear that I shall resent him . . . I do not want him to accept the Jotuns.”

“That is difficult to reconcile without understanding the reasons.”

“I fear that would start an argument,” muttered Loki.

Thor bit into his lip. He tasted the hint of blood, while the tension to his temple brought an aching pain to his head, and yet he said nothing as he walked over to the bed, where he placed Móði beside Loki and watched as Móði immediately attempted to crawl. It brought further laughter to Thor, as he saw how Móði swept his limbs in wide circles without yet fully mastering the process of crawling, so that he appeared to be swimming in place. Thor returned for Magni and looked back to Loki with a serious smile, as he swore:  

“Then I must learn to listen without arguing with you.”

Thor returned to lie beside Loki, while he placed Magni between them. They watched as Móði attempted to climb onto Thor, until he pulled at some body hair that brought a loud howl of pain to his lips, and forced him to cover his body with the blankets. Thor cursed, while Loki laughed so long and hard that tears rolled down his cheeks, until he struggled to breathe and Magni laughed in turn, reaching to him with clasping hands and red cheeks. It was only when Magni grabbed at Loki’s hair – yanking at his head – that Loki stopped.

It was Loki’s turn to curse, as he gently removed Magni’s hand. Thor soon stopped in his laughter when he saw how Magni curled up against Loki’s chest, resting his head so that he could listen to that beating heart just as Thor had done. The two looked so perfect together, enough that Loki slid down to fully recline and closed his eyes, so that – at any moment – he might drift away into a peaceful slumber. Thor smiled and asked in a whisper:

“Do you fear being open for my reactions?”

“Your reactions . . . Father’s reactions . . . it is all one.”

“I suppose we have often responded in time with aggression or dismissal,” admitted Thor. “I did not realise at the time that my reactions so hurt you, especially as I always sought to include you in all matters, but I suppose silencing the silver-tongue is more hurtful to one that only has words with which to express himself. I promise I will let you speak.”

“And you will not hate me when I have done speaking?”

“There is only one way to find out.”

Loki huffed and held Magni ever closer. He patted at his back in a slow rhythm, while his cool skin provided a novelty and comfort to Magni, who – with little yawns – constantly shifted to find a new cool spot once he warmed the current area. Thor reached out to stroke tiny cheeks, before he lifted Móði onto his chest so that he could nuzzle against Loki and place chaste kisses to his neck, while he listened to their sons mumble the strange and incoherent sounds so native to young children. Loki turned to him with knitted eyebrows.

“Thor -?”

“I swear I could never hate you.”

Loki sagged in relief. A tear sprang from the corner of his eyes, until Magni spotted the stray tear as it trailed down the sides of his head and into his hairline, and – with puffed out cheeks and a lot huff – Magni smacked at Loki’s eyes with an open palm. Loki flinched. He opened his eyes again to see Magni smile with mouth wide, as little gurgles of ‘no’ came out over and over, and Thor whispered that Magni strove to make his pain go away, knowing only the logic of a small child. Loki cried in earnest, as he pulled Magni impossibly close.  

It was a moment Thor wished he could immortalise, especially when both looked so at peace and bore the exact same expression, and – as the breeze continued onward – it caught at their hair and moved with the same pattern. Thor barely held Móði in place, as he refused to settle and strove to escape from his parents. He looked to him and saw a future warrior. Thor drew in a deep breath and let out a long sigh, as he struggled to understand the issue at hand.

“Loki,” sighed Thor. “Why do you fear you shall resent Móði?”

“The Jotuns are a barbaric race of monsters,” spat Loki. “It is my fear that Móði shall grow to empathise with them too much, perhaps even marry one of their fold, and he will forget that they were the ones to abandon his father and wage war on Midgard. I see too much of them when I look in the mirror. Am I to see them when I look at him, too? We have so little in common, especially as he is not natural with magic, and if we grow apart . . .”

“I was not one for magic, either,” said Thor. “I found Mother loved me just as much, so that she was always there to give me advice and defend my actions, and – over time – I learned from her skills such as patience and empathy and compromise. You have Mother’s soul and influence, enough that you could also forge unbreakable bonds with Móði.”

“We were also raised by Father, Thor. He clung more to you as he understood you, while I forever felt in the shadows, and I fear – despite our love for one another – our relationship is beyond repair. What if I become like him? What if I repeat his mistakes?”

“Then I will be here to guide you to what is right.”

Thor leaned towards Loki, as he pressed a kiss to his lips. Loki sighed and returned the kiss with fervour, as if seeking for some form of validation and purpose, and – as seconds passed – Magni appeared jealous as attention was given to another. Tiny fists hit at Thor’s face, forcing him to pull away with a muttered complaint, only for Magni to throw himself on Loki with small sobs, until Loki embraced him again and pressed a kiss to his head. Loki calmed him until he was once again nearly asleep, until he looked to Thor with wet eyes.

“I am still afraid,” confided Loki.

The words lingered as Thor blinked away tears in turn. He left Móði beside Loki, as he left the bed to fetch a fresh pitcher of water and a clean cloth from the bathroom, and – on return – gently knelt beside Loki and cleansed his skin from all remains of their act. Loki sighed in relief, as the cold water provided a small comfort. The cloth caught over some of his markings, providing small tugs, but otherwise his skin was soon left perfect. Thor pleaded:

“Let me be by your side until the fear passes.”

“What if the fear never passes?”

“Then I shall never leave your side,” teased Thor. “I would remain at your side regardless, so it is no inconvenience for me to stay there when you need me most. Let me share your fears. Let me share your thoughts. I will help you to ease the burden, while we work together to find solutions that shall suit us both. I will not let Móði lose his Asgardian heritage.”

“But you would let him gain a Jotun heritage?”

“I think we no longer have a choice.” Thor furrowed his brow. “We cannot argue about whether that is best for him, as it is what must happen according to the contracts signed, but that is not to say we cannot teach him Asgardian history and customs. Can you not take him on various hunts? Can I not include him in negotiations? Can we not – together – put him to sleep of stories of his grandfather’s accomplishments? He will always be ours.

“If you have better ideas, I would sincerely be happy to consider them. I must also be honest in turn with you, Loki . . . I cannot abide you talking badly about the Jotun before Móði. If you need to vent such emotions to me, I will listen to all you have to say, but I beg you never to say such things while Móði can hear. Tell me, can I do anything else to ease your worries?”

“No, Thor. I think this is all the emotional bonding that I can bare for one day.” Loki smiled and shook his head. “I am very tempted to break the tension with a joke, but – for now – let me just say that I am glad our relationship has developed. Sex is _far_ better than jests.”

“Although, it _was_ amusing when you strangled ‘Thor’ with ‘harder’.”

“Your prowess left me an incoherent mess. Be pleased and do not tease.”

Thor laughed and threw the cloth at Loki. It struck him on his leg, so that he kicked it off back at Thor, and – were it not for the boys finally quietening – he may have been tempted to begin a water-fight or tease Loki into something more intimate. Loki looked to him with a faint smile; Thor stood and leaned down to kiss at Loki’s lips, where he paused just a few inches away to gaze into those red eyes that he knew so well. Thor asked:

“Will you miss the family we had?”

The rooms were still clearly Loki’s and Loki’s alone. A shelf across the room was littered with odd souvenirs from Odin’s various time off-planet . . . fragments of a rare gemstone, a few posters of an alien group, shells from an animal whose name could not be pronounced . . . books littered all other areas, with the spines of those gifted by Frigga bent and broken. It was difficult not to find a single space where their parental presence could not be felt, as framed pictures sat in odd corners almost undetected. Loki appeared confused as he observed:

“I am happy with the family we have.”

“It is perfect,” admitted Thor.

“Hmm, that is the problem,” muttered Loki. “We can divide our attention perfectly between two children, while our parents have slowly come around to our marriage, and – over time – we may even form a perfect union, but if we were to have another -? I worry it would be too soon, especially as Thrúd would disrupt the rhythm of our lives so soon after it has settled.”

“You have picked a name for our future child already?”

Thor laughed low and deep. He came around the bed to crawl beside Loki, as he curled against him and let Móði pull himself over Thor’s legs and collapse behind him, only to attempt to climb back with gurgles and growls. The silence that followed was uncomfortable, as if something was going unsaid that needed to be said, and when Thor looked into Loki’s eyes . . . he saw a dangerous smirk added deep lines to the corners. Loki raised his eyebrows and stared hard at Thor, until realisation dawned with a heavy weight.

“You are -?” Thor blinked. “We are -?”

Tears sprang to his eyes. Thor threw his arms around Loki and pulled him tight, so that Magni started to sob once more as the attention was shared, and – as he placed kiss after kiss to Loki’s cheeks – he struggled to contain his emotion. Móði scratched at his back, as he tried to climb over him, while Magni yanked at his hair with loud whines, and yet Thor knew he would not trade the moment for anything else in the world. He said through laughter:

“You were only penetrated the once.”

“Aye, but I _told_ you to tell me when you were coming,” chastised Loki. “I was supposed to pull away for you to come _on_ me and not _in_ me, as such there is every chance that I could be with child again, especially as – judging by _last_ time – we both appear to be highly fertile.”

“You would blame me? I told you I was coming, Loki.”

“No, you did _not_ ,” muttered Loki.

“Yes, I _did_ ,” said Thor.

Loki narrowed his gaze and sat upright. He held Magni close to him, while he looked Thor over with a strange coldness, until – with eyes wide and blue skin paled – realisation seemed to dawn over him. Loki let his mouth fall open, as he collapsed back on the pillows with a loud curse and a wince of his features. Thor rolled his eyes and folded his arms, as he turned his head to Loki and awaited the inevitable ‘apology’ that would come.

“Oh, you did,” muttered Loki.

“I suppose it a blessing. After all, this is the start of the rest of our lives.”

“Yes, but this is the _last_ time I am ever being the receptive partner. I did not expect any more children after Móði and Magni, and I am determined to make certain that Thrúd shall be our very last, especially when we have so many plans and much work to be done.”

“You do not even know if you are pregnant, but you are sure it’s a girl?”

“Well, there is always Narfi for a boy, I suppose.”

Thor winced and brought a hand to his temple. He massaged the skin, while the lights from outside finally died down, and soon night slowly descended on them, casting long shadows and bringing forth a cool shade. Thor turned his head to look at the sunset through the lattices, where the low light brought new patterns onto the tiled floor, and he smiled to think of how many sunsets would be shared in each other’s arms. He teased back:

“You have hideous tastes, Loki.”

“Well, considering with whom I have chosen to share my bed -?”

Thor delivered a playful kick to Loki’s shin. Loki laughed long and hard, until Thor – with a half-smile and a dangerous gaze – rolled over and pressed his lips to Loki’s, relishing in how the kiss soon deepened and a hand buried itself into his hair. Tears ran down Thor’s cheeks, as he pressed a hand to Loki’s stomach and thought to their latest addition, until Magni tugged at his beard with a painful strength and Móði strove to climb once more on his back.

Loki burst into laughter once again, as Thor rolled onto his back and Móði crawled onto his stomach, and – with little desire to stop him – Loki allowed Magni to roll with Thor, so that he could continue to pull at his beard and yank at his hair. Thor said nothing as his sons climbed over him and continued to frustrate him, even as he knew he would never complain when he loved them so much. He glanced to Loki, who swung his feet onto the floor and arched his back in a beautiful manner. Thor smiled as Loki looked over his shoulder.

“I love you, Thor,” whispered Loki.

“I love you, too, my beloved.”


	40. Epilogue

Magni crouched above.

He pressed gloved hands to the icy rock; Móði walked far below over the snowy landscape, with loud crunches of snow underfoot, as slowly advanced towards a cave just on the horizon, where – with a great deal of movement – an illusion of Magni fussed with some minor task, as it feigned collecting wood for a fire. Móði bore a smirk obvious even from the distance, as red eyes narrowed and his head was held high. He pressed both hands on his hips.

The leather skirt he wore was Jotun in style, while the leather tunic was clearly Asgardian, and the red cape – that fluttered out behind him – further gave it an Asgardian feel, even as his long black plait swung out behind him. Magni bit his lip to hide his laughter. Móði strode forward with a great sense of purpose, while muscles bulged and he crouched down to collect a great deal of snow, and he kept those red eyes ever fixated on the illusion, as he created snowball so large and compacted that it would surely hurt on impact.

Móði threw the snowball with full force.

It hurtled through the air and went directly through the illusion. Magni waited for it to strike the wall and splatter into a burst of snow, which looked beautiful as it rained down like a fine powder, and – right as the illusion disappeared from life – he stood tall and whistled. Móði spun around and looked up with wide eyes and open mouthed, as he spluttered absently and pointed with a blue finger to the makeshift campsite. Magni crossed his arms over his chest and quirked his head to the side with a smirk, as he strove again not to laugh.

“Will you ever _not_ fall for that?” Magni asked.

The snow gave way underneath Móði. He crashed through the hole, where the magic _barely_ held the snow together in a well-concealed disguise, and landed in a pool of icy water that almost burned Magni’s skin on an accidental touch. Magni burst into laughter. Tears rolled down flushed cheeks, as he jumped off the small cliff and walked over to the pit, where – barely able to breathe – he stopped to catch his breath. He kept his distance so that Móði would be unable to drag him into the pit, but continued to laugh until his sides hurt.

“You are _dead_ when I tell Uncle Helblindi,” called out Móði.

“Oh, yes, go running to Uncle,” laughed Magni. “You know full well that he’ll chastise you for being so foolish as to fall for that! My, what a future king _you’ll_ make. I keep trying to tell you that brute strength is not the only quality needed for success, but no . . . you just go ahead and mock the _seiðr_ user. Well, who’s laughing now, Brother?”

“Fine, then I shall tell Father.” Móði slowly climbed the pit walls. “You know he hates your pranks. You won’t see daylight again until you turn twenty-five! What would you have done if I’d injured myself? What would you have done if I couldn’t get out?”

“Honestly? I’d have probably laughed even harder.”

Móði soon pulled himself out of the pit. The water dripped from his leather skirts, while his cape was so saturated that it clung to his blue skin and moulded itself to his limbs, and – as he shook out his hand and hair – he glared at Magni who soon stopped his laughter. It was a warning look, usually one that preceded a chase or an imminent fight. Magni raised his hands in mock surrender; he stepped back and looked towards the flourishing city in the distance, where the strong sunlight reflected from the glass and ice with blinding strength.  

“Father will punish you,” promised Móði.

Magni rolled his eyes. The campsite nearby still simmered with a dying fire, while their belongings were clumped together ready for the guards to remove later that evening, and – as he looked to the palace – he struggled to imagine a time when Jotunheim was the ‘wasteland’ described by Loki. Magni smiled and cricked his back, while he looked upward to the sky and thought to Asgard enough that his blue eyes crinkled at the corners. Magni chirped:

“Loki will sneak me rewards.”

“Oh, yeah, trust him to reward the _favourite_ for bad behaviour,” muttered Móði.

“I am not the favourite.” Magni folded his arms. “Do you see how Father treats you? He sacrifices time to personally escort you to Jotunheim each year. He attends every single one of your sparring matches. He took you personally on your first hunt! Do not be a hypocrite, Brother. There is nothing that I hate more than a hypocrite.”

“Do you ever think it ironic?” Móði asked with a smirk. “Magni Thorson is the favourite of Loki, while Móði Lokason is the favourite of Thor. I sometimes think we were doubly cursed . . . both to have each other as brothers and to take after the wrong fathers.”

“Oh, you consider me a curse now?”

“A curse _and_ a tragedy.”

Móði bowed deep with a dramatic flair. It brought further laughter to Magni, as he ran a hand through blond locks and winked at Móði with both hands on his chest, and – with a feigned sigh – Móði dropped awkwardly on one knee, while the sword on his back prevented him from keeping his back straight. The pantomime amused Magni, who brushed the full Asgardian winter attire to shake away the last of the snow, as he fluttered his eyelashes and clasped his hands before him like a maiden from a novel, as he gasped out in a whisper:

“Would you rather our brotherly love be like our fathers’?”

“Alas,” laughed Móði. “I do not think I could not compete with Fannar.”

A cold breeze blew across the landscape. It cast clouds of powdered ice about his feet, as he breathed fast and shallow with small bursts of steam, and – as he stumbled back a few steps – he raised a trembling hand to his mouth as tears formed. Móði rose even as the water to his clothing turned to ice, giving his outfit an unnatural appearance. He stepped closer to Magni. It would have calmed Magni at any other time, as those blue and callused hands reached for him, but instead he jumped back and blinked away the tears, as he spat out:

“What do you know?”

“You mean about you dating Fanner?” Móði laughed and shrugged. “You thought you could hide that you were dating a Jotun? We’re brothers, Magni! I know everything. I have to admit that I’m almost hurt you didn’t think to tell me . . . I thought we told each other everything, like how I even told you about Vigdís and that trip to Vanaheim, but –”

“It’s not the same. You _know_ it’s not the same.”

“You’re right there. There’s no way you’ll still be the favourite when Loki finds out! Fannar is an absolute delight, but his skin is blue and his heart is cold, and Loki will never love you again once you tell him. He’ll disown you! It’s expected from me to date a Jotun . . . I – alas – have a Jotun line to continue, but you -? He always thought you’d be the one with Vigdís or – . . . oh, no, Magni, no! Don’t cry! I was just . . . I was being an ass. I’m sorry, okay?”

Magni laughed through his tears. A joke was already half-formed on his lips, but Móði threw his arms around Magni and pulled him flush against him. The cold ice and snow only exacerbated the coldness to his skin, but Magni enjoyed how Móði towered over him and how those strong muscles reminded him so much of father, and – as he sobbed with blue eyes bloodshot from the force – he felt protected and safe from all harm. He listened as Móði stumbled over some snatches of a song, one half-remembered from their youth.

The cold was too much to endure, as Magni pulled back and wiped at his eyes with leather-clad hands, and – with a sniff – craned his head to meet his brother’s eyes. There was perhaps a few inches between them at most, but it seemed like the entire world parted them in those seconds, especially as he caught sight of the palace beyond. Magni gnawed at the inside of his lip, until he caught the taste of blood bitter and warm on his tongue. He whispered:

“How am I supposed to tell Loki?”

Móði opened his mouth, but soon closed it with a wince. It was an answer in itself. Magni laughed and paced back and forth on the snow, as he sniffed and kicked at the various icicles that dangled from the nearby cliff-face, and his eyes stung with the force of his tears. He pursed his lips together and lowered his head, until blond locks fell forward to curtain his face, and he turned with trembling lips forced into a smile. Móði would not meet his gaze, but instead stared towards the campsite with a shrug. Magni asked in a low voice:

“What if he does disown me?”

“Hey, you forget your brother is going to be _king_ of Jotunheim,” teased Móði. “If you do get disowned, you can always live here on Jotunheim with me. You have Jotun blood, too, so you can endure the climate and plus . . . you’d make one hell of a court jester.”

Magni laughed despite the situation. He scratched at his head, but – as a strong scent caught at his nose – sneezed uncontrollably until Móði was forced to hand him a handkerchief, which he took to wipe at the mess under his nose. Magni shoved the fabric into his pocket as he sniffed and looked to Móði with a blush, before Móði slapped a hand on his shoulder with enough force to knock him forward. He stumbled with a frown, as Móði chirped out:

“Hey, at least I’m not the one sneezing for once.”

“Yeah, there is that,” mumbled Magni.

“So you really do like him? Fannar, I mean?” Móði furrowed his brow. “What’s that like? You know . . . being in love? Helblindi had me betrothed to Steinn since we were children, but – well – I don’t think we’ve ever felt more than indifference to each other, even when they forced us on hunts and diplomatic missions together. It just reminds me of Father and Loki.”

“You think them indifferent to each other?” Magni chuckled and shook his head. “Clearly, _you_ don’t have your bedroom adjacent to theirs! They never close their balcony doors. I swear that every night all I ever hear is ‘Loki, deeper’ or ‘Loki, not so hard’.”

“There is more to love than sex. Trust me on that.”

“Why? Just because you and Steinn have an ‘agreement’?” Magni rolled his eyes. “You don’t _see_ them, Móði! You don’t see how Father always saves a few grapes with every meal, just so Loki can ‘steal’ a few, and you don’t see how Loki always drapes a blanket over Father when he sleeps, always warning you never to tell him. They smile when they meet each other’s eyes. They laugh at silly inside jokes. They _love_ one another.”

Móði sighed and shook his head. He walked away, leaving Magni alone by the cliff, while Magni threw his body forward with a long groan, as he stumbled along after Móði with muttered complaints and pleas to see his side. They continued the one-sided argument as they walked, with snow crunching underfoot and the breeze picking up speed, and they stopped only at the campsite. Magni glanced over to the city. The palace was a defining point against the cityscape, with Helblindi’s windows visible from where they camped.

“What _they_ have is what _I_ have with Fanner.” Magni blushed with a smile. “I never thought I would fall in love, especially as Loki always drilled into me ‘ _education first_ ’, but then -? I don’t know. I just saw him in the court; Uncle warned me to stay away from him, even though he was the son of an ambassador and a diplomat, and I just -? We fall asleep talking to one another. We constantly write to one another. We’re each other’s everything.”

“You think Father and Loki are ‘everything’ to each other? They disagree on every last subject, Magni. You’re too much a hopeless romantic! Aye, they may talk behind closed doors, but do you really not see the resentment in their eyes on every compromise? They would have divorced long ago, if law did not make that impossible.”

“You are too jaded, Móði! You are bitter and morbid.”

“And you’re naive and a child.”

Móði turned under the shade of the cave. He jabbed a finger against Magni’s chest, hard enough to bruise the skin above the bone, and Magni looked down with a blush as his eyes welled once more and his hands fell limp at his side. Móði pulled his hand back and clenched it into a fist, as he bounced it in the air with a hiss of breath through flared nostrils, and – after a long few seconds – he ran his hand over his face and let out a long-suffering groan, before he shrugged and waved a hand awkwardly in the air. Móði muttered:  

“Want to fight it out?”

“We’ve fought for lesser reasons.”

Móði smiled and wagged his fingers in the air. Each count would throw out another finger, until – on the count of three – he dove for Magni with enough force that he stumbled when Magni dodged the first tackle. It brought further bouts of laughter, as Magni projected an illusion immediately before Móði, so that it was the first thing he saw once he righted himself, only to once more dive for the illusion and land face-first into the snow.

The laughter was soon stopped, as Móði snatched at his ankles. Magni collapsed onto his back with a thud, rolling onto his front with a long groan, and – as he struggled to climb back to his feet with the snow slippery underfoot – Móði threw a punch. Magni barely had time to dodge. He threw himself onto his back, before another punch came and another, until they were rolling about the snow with muttered curses and a stray few punches and kicks that struggled to make contact. A few minutes passed, until a voice called out:  

“Stop. That is an order.”

Magni yelped as Mjölnir crashed into the ice. The hammer landed a few inches from his face, where the snow around melted and seeped away from the metal, and – as Móði climbed to his feet with muttered apologies – Magni looked out of the cave to see a familiar face. Blond hair blew about in the breeze with little style, while eyes narrowed until they were barely slits on a pale face. If it weren’t for the Jotun markings, as well as the prominent red of eyes where the whites ought to have been, Thrúd may have passed as Thor’s double.

Móði reached down to offer a hand to Magni, as he helped him to stand and brush off the snow from his Asgardian attire, and yet – as Magni glanced between them – he pursed his lips into a thin line to try and stave off the laughter. He looked to Móði. Móði looked back. It broke Móði out of whatever nervous humility overcame him, as he chuckled under his breath and shared in that mischievous expression. Móði nudged him in his side and nodded to Thrúd.

“Ah, look,” said Móði. “It’s the heir of Asgard!”

“Thrúd Thorsdóttir,” teased Magni. "Far more worthy than us, I’m sure.”

“Oh, _very_ worthy. There’s even a hammer to prove it.”

Thrúd pinched the bridge of her nose. The thick leather boots crunched on the snow, as she marched into the cave entrance with a hand on her hip, and her armour glistened in the snowy landscape as ice collected over its surface. Magni noticed how her hands and arms slowly turned blue, as if unable to resist the climate, and he looked away with a spark of jealousy, as Thrúd shared in something with Móði beyond him. Thrúd swept back her green cloak, as she threw it behind her and glared at them both in turn. Thrúd said with a sigh:

“If you both need me as a scapegoat –”

“ _‘I am happy to play that part’_ ,” both chirped in unison.

“I will refrain from telling Father and Loki about this, but you _must_ learn to communicate without reducing one another to tears or tantrums.” Thrúd shook her head. “You both carry with you long lines of royal blood, whose men and women commanded the respect of millions, and you do them dishonour by playing the part of children.”

“Why are you here?” Móði asked. “Magni and I were here for a bonding exercise; you can see the remains of our campsite, while we have mostly gotten on perfectly okay, and – if Loki sent you to act as a chaperone – it’s completely and utterly unnecessary.”

“That amuses me, as Loki thought you were going to Midgard.”

Magni opened his eyes wide. He looked to Móði, but he simply folded his arms and glared back, and – in turn – Magni curled his lip and shook his head, until both descended into a silent conversation expressed only though gestures and expressions. It stopped when both glared hard at one another, blanched, and turned to cast their eyes over Thrúd. Magni slumped his shoulders with a curse and kicked at the snow. Móði rolled his eyes.   

“I knew it,” said Thrúd.

Thrúd sighed and walked over to the packed belongings, where – by the remains of the smouldering fire – a few scraps of cooked meat sat on a stone plate, and she bent low to pick at the scraps with loud complaints about the lack of seasonings and spices. The two sets of bedding were cast at opposite ends of the cave; one set neatly packed and organised, one that was all too chaotic and difficult to carry for its shape. Magni wandered over to Thrúd, with hands clasped behind his back, as he swung one foot before the other and asked:

“So Loki wants you to stop us?”

“Actually, his exact words were: ‘if your father asks, I know nothing about this’.” Thrúd shrugged. “He also suggested that it would be nice were Fannar and Vigdís to get a bit of a break, as Vigdís trains to the point of exhaustion and Fannar always has his nose in a book, so – if you’ll look over there – I brought with me two companions.”

“You – You – Y-You brought Vigdís?” Móði asked.

“Aye, just wait a second, Brother.”

Thrúd whistled. Two familiar figures appeared by the cliff. Vigdís leaned against the ice dressed in fabrics and metals reminiscent of Fandral’s style, while her black hair was cropped short and her brown eyes fixated on Móði with evident interest. Magni only gave her a passing glance; Vigdís was a dear friend to all, but he knew to engage her for too long would end in an invitation to spar or train, both of which were impossible to win without tricks.

Magni instead looked to Fannar.

He stood tall and in traditional Jotun attire; a leather pair of shorts kept his modesty, while a few metal armlets provided some decoration, and his boots were of the sturdiest leather, decorated according to the latest fashions. Magni bit into his lip. He swallowed hard to realise that Fannar still forewent any other clothing, always too hot to endure, and yet it only emphasised his heavy muscles and exceptional height, so that Magni could hold it back no longer. He ran straight for his ‘friend’ and dove into his arms for an embrace.

It was difficult to mask it as ‘platonic’, especially when Fannar swung him in the air and dropped him with a half-saddened smile, and – as their hands lingered on each other’s arms – Magni blushed to realise that Fannar was desperately fighting the urge to kiss him. Magni almost missed as Móði and Thrúd joined them, but he didn’t miss how Móði flushed red every time Vigdís looked his way. Thrúd sighed and added:

“Oh, Loki had _one_ last thing to add.”

“What now?” Móði asked.

“He said not to _dare_ keep this relationship secret any longer, Magni.” Thrúd looked to him with a cold glare. “We are family and support each other unconditionally, and you are heir to neither throne and have no obligation to create a pure line. You may date who you wish, but to deny our parents the opportunity to meet Fannar and embarrass you thoroughly -?” Thrúd shrugged with a wink. “He promises to embarrass you further as punishment.”

“He does not hate me?” Magni asked in a whisper.

“Well, I cannot deny he is displeased, but he does not hate you. I think he is _more_ concerned about Móði, truth be told, as there would be great repercussions should the marriage to Steinn fail, but . . . we talked without Father present. We thought that you could be presented as a potential heir instead, being that Fanner is a full-Jotun of good stock.”

“You would replace me already?” Móði spat. “My relationship with Steinn is fine! I am not yet ready to abdicate or allow another to usurp my place, but it is nice to know that my family thinks I am so inadequate as to fail at a marriage before it has begun.”

“Well, that is your choice,” said Thrúd.

“Yes, it is my choice.”

Thrúd cast her eyes over Móði with a curl of her lip. It would have been an insult, except he saw how Móði – even with cheeks darkened and eyes narrowed – still cast glanced to Vigdís, where his expression would soften and she would blush in turn. Magni stole a quick peck to Fannar’s cheek while the others were preoccupied, before he pulled back with a chuckle and came to his brother’s defence as he sought to defuse the situation. Magni chirped out:

“Can we leave now?”

“You still wish to go to Midgard?” Vigdís asked. “I know what Loki said, but will not the Allfather have our heads for travelling to such a realm at such an age? My father will not mind, but my mother will have my head for breaking the Allfather’s laws.”

“Luckily for me,” added Fannar, “Thor is not my king.”

“Uncle Helblindi will still be furious with you,” replied Magni. “He disapproves of our relationship as things stand, enough that I think he is patiently waiting for us to part ways, but if you were to escort his heir, nephew, and niece to an alien realm -? It may be all he needs to finally demand that Father separate us and break our union. It is a risk.”

“Let the world try to part us.” Fannar ran a hand through Magni’s hair. “I will gladly give up my realm and my king and my heritage for you. If it causes too much trouble for you, we can always lie and say that Thrúd was the ringleader in this endeavour.”

“Oh, sure, blame me,” teased Thrúd. “Why not?”

“Don’t worry,” laughed Móði. “Just say Loki gave you permission.”

Magni smiled and looked between his friends. He saw the present truces and animosities, as well as mutual respect and mutual rivalries, and – even when they fought and bickered – he knew each one of them would give his life for him, just as he would for them. The snow brought goosebumps to Vigdís’ skin, while steam poured forth from her mouth with every breath, and Fanner kept his eyes locked on Magni with a smile, even as Móði muttered complaints and tried to keep distance from Vigdís. Magni asked with a laugh:

“Okay, so we will away to Midgard?”

He placed a pale hand before them. Thrúd laughed and slapped her hand on top, followed by a grunt from Vigdís who gave her hand in turn, and then came Fanner, while Móði – with a roll of his eyes and a sigh – placed his hand last. The five of them shared various looks and laughs, while Fannar counted to three and all threw their hands in the air. The laughter was sincere and smiles genuine, as Thrúd thrust Mjölnir into the air and called:

“To Midgard!”


End file.
